What Might Have Been
by Hawkz
Summary: AU Loki gets a new sibling. A young Midgardian. Under Mother's orders, he and Thor are to treat little Jane as family. What might have been, the years of raising a mortal in Asgard. Lokane.
1. Chapter 1

**Out of no where I've caught this LokixJane bug and it's driving me mad because reasons. I've not been able to sleep due to this story taking over my thought process and it's not a good thing at the moment because I have an academic project I need to finish really, really badly. All I know it I have Lokane hot in my blood and fuck, it's driving me insane. **

**Beware: I've never written dark, possessive silver-tongued characters. Of all horrible things, Loki may come across as sane or even nice. Yeah. That would be weird and a bit out of character for him. I will, ****_try_**** to stay true to his Loki-ness but it may come out that I don't do dark, or possessive, or everything else Lokane fans love about Loki/the imagined relationship he and Jane should-would-could have. **

**Hawkz  
**

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_What Might Have Been: Chapter I_

Frigga did not often travel. In fact, her traveling was an anomaly and travel to Midgard made her actions nigh suspicious. Odin and her sons thought they knew her so well but there are always secrets people keep even from loved ones. No one's heart is ever truly laid bare and Frigga did not think it a bad thing. People need places and thoughts known only to themselves, a little piece sheltered from any outside influence. Those small pieces act like rocks to which one anchors himself in times of uncertainty. Frigga was not uncertain but she did need some measure of peace.

A few fingers rubbed her brow in a pensive way, her small frown betraying the nature of her thoughts.

_Odin. Thor._

_Loki_.

She worried for her family, her youngest son in particular. He was, difficult to deal with many a times and his silver tongue did not always make him allies. That his aptitude was in the magical arts, her arts, made him fodder for jokes and ridicule. People may not laugh at her, the Queen, for these skills—then again who would dare laugh in the face of the Queen?—but Loki was prince in a realm that prided the martial arts for its men. Even his intellect did not win him many favors much to his mother's sadness.

She was not blind. Frigga saw the rift forming within her boys, even a small resentment building between Loki and his father Odin. Loki did have Fenrir, a small wolf her created and showed her with such joy and pride. The wolf offered him some solace—animals had a way of reaching hearts that Aesir and other realm inhabitants lacked—but her son needed something more. He wanted something more.

Midgard had changed. Thor often came here, exploring, seeing, talking with the inhabitants of a realm he grew to cherish. He told of the changes he'd seen in years and Frigga disguised herself so as not to arouse skepticism in the populace. She was somewhere in an area called the United States—very odd name—and where it was summer. The air was filled with a dry heat but a breeze made it pleasant. The inhabitants here walked up and down these pathways in front of her. Like Asgard, they had places to sit and drink and meet acquaintances. She herself was sipping a curious beverage called sweet tea. Frigga understood how Thor could fall in love with such a realm. Loki did not seem to cherish things like his brother. Her smile faded into something more melancholic.

"Why are you sad?" Frigga turned to her inquirer. It was a little girl. She gave her a false smile, the kind you offer to strangers.

"I am not sad, little one."

A childish pout worked her lips. "Liar." Frigga had to laugh. That was usually a title they reserved for her son. The girl smiled back.

"Do not let a stranger's woes afflict you, child."

Clearly the word afflict was more complex than the child's thoughts could decipher so she ignored it. She moved her book—the cover support large letters spelling SCIENCE—to the other hand and fished in her pocket.

"Here you go."

It was a rock. A rock. Diplomatically, Frigga offered her thanks. Picking it up, half fell away, held by an artisan's small hinge to reveal the insides streaked with color and beauty. Frigga stared.

"I gotcha! You just thought it was rock too, didn't you? Everyone thinks it's just an ordinary rock, but," the child's voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper, "if people just looked inside, they'd see how pretty something is." More like stunning. The colors swirled in a mixture of green, black, and gold; a bolt of divination struck her.

"Child, what's your name?"

"I'm Jane. Nice to meet you." _Yes,_ Friga thought as she shook the smaller hand, _It is very nice to meet you too._

Odin was furious with his wife.

"A child? You took a child from Midgard! You know better than that Frigga." The chambers shook with his rage and Frigga was glad one of the servants had taken Jane to get her something to eat and then bed given the late hour. They had been arguing ever since. She met her husband's fury with some of her own.

"Do not take that tone with me. Of course I know. She has no one. Her parents died when she was but a babe and in—" what did they call it on Midgard? "—in the care of another, not family, not even friends of the family. She had nowhere else to go. And I did not take her without Midgardian permission." How she got that permission, well, Loki took after her more than he knew. Odin was not satisfied with that answer and paced before, his face still curdled in anger. "How quick you forget, dear, the day you took Loki into our house."

He dismissed her with a wave. "That was different. She is mortal. She will live not even a century, and she is weak besides. She could easily meet her end before that. What you have done is nothing that could benefit the child."

"Maybe I did it for myself. Have you ever thought of that?" Odin's anger fled from his face as he calculated his wife's words. He did not know what to make of them. He did not get the chance.

Of all the doors she tried, Jane finally found the woman she was looking for. Ignoring the man in the room, not to mention the tension between the two, Jane dashed for the skirts.

"There's a monster under my bed!"

Frigga hushed her, sweeping her up in a comforting hug. She offered soothing words and back rubs. Odin leaned back into a chair with a frown eating up his face. His wife sent him a look, daring him to speak out, and he grunted looking aside.

_Women._

Frigga hid her smile by hugging Jane again. _Victory._ She left their rooms to carry her newly adopted daughter back to her rooms.

"Hush little one. There are no monsters here."

Jane's small brown curls shook negatively. "Yes there are! I saw it! It had huge teeth and green eyes! It was under my bed and it, it barked at me!"

"You mean Fenrir?"

"It tried to eat me!"

Frigga sighed. They had a stop to make before Jane's room then. Down a different hallway lined by sconces glowing a muted yellow was a colossal wooden door covered in runes. Frigga knocked. A boyish voice answered. The room was lighted and Loki sat in his plush bed reading.

"First, you should have been asleep hours ago and two, Fenrir is terrorizing your new sibling." Frigga liked that she could still bring emotions to her sons face—it was getting more difficult, especially for outsiders—and he currently supported a look of raised eyebrows.

"New sibling?" The words were an unwelcomed intrusion on his tongue and Loki did not like how they tasted. He had Thor. Irritating, brash, bold, aggressive, occasionally lovable Thor—he definitely did not want another sibling. Frigga smiled and offered him a view of the small female she carried.

"Say hello to Jane. She's yours from now on." Yours_. Mine? _Loki considered the words for a bit, not sure if he heard correctly.

"Mine?"

"That's right." He walked, his footsteps slow, over to where his mother held the child. It had glassy eyes as if fighting tears. Brown eyes. They looked at his green ones and held his gaze. Loki assessed the creature before him and then drew back, hissing and disgusted at what his mother held.

"A mortal," he cursed. The child flinched and drew further in on herself. The scowl on Loki's lips threatened to form into a snarl.

"Loki," his mother warned.

"She's not one of us, mother. Not of our kind. Why should we accept her?" Loki had never seen his mother get so angry so fast. He flinched and cowered from her scorn.

"Never say such things, Loki! She is family. She will be loved and given due respect as your own. I expect you and Thor to love and care for her as you do one another. Now come and apologize to your little sister."

Loki looked like he just swallowed an exceedingly slimy insect but came over as his mother bid. Nervous brown eyes looked down from his mother's shoulder.

"Are you here to get rid of the monster under my bed?"

Loki cocked an eyebrow. Following his mother and sister—he still scowled at the thought—told him why the child asked. He whistled and Fenrir crawled out from underneath her bed and shook himself free of dust. His tongue greeted Loki's hand and the wolf smiled when the boy scratched his ears.

Jane's face melted into one of exuberance. "It's a puppy!" Frigga set her down on the bed so she and her son could talk. He was a man, if just in Asgardian standards. As such, Frigga felt free to scold him as the child he was—and would always be in her eyes as any mother could attest.

"I mean this Loki. She is now family. I expect you to love and care for her as your own."

"You cannot be serious Mother. What did Father say? Surely he did not accept a mortal into his realm, let alone his house."

"I have seen to Odin," was all she said on the matter. Loki knew better than to argue when she wielded that tone. "But, Mother, a mortal?"

"Spend time with her Loki. You'll be pleasantly surprised." A giggle distracted both of them. Fenrir, who snapped and growled at all but Loki, was getting his tummy rubbed by Jane. By the look of his dangling tongue, he was thoroughly enjoying it. For a second time that night, Loki felt something akin to shock.

A possessive curl made the young Asgardian lean over his new sibling, his lean frame looking big and tall, intimidating, in comparison to Jane's small build. "That's mine."

She did not stop rubbing Fenrir's belly. "Where'd you find him?"

"I made him." _Sort of_. Jane stopped and looked up at him with wide eyes and a slack mouth.

"That's incredible." Her compliment startled him and Loki lost his aggressive demeanor momentarily. "What else can you do?" Loki looked down at the young mortal before waving his hand and one of his magic tricks popped into life. Neither child saw their adoptive mother leave, a smile working her face.

Jane clapped as energetically for the fifth trick as she did for the first. She currently was twisting his hand one way or another trying to figure out how he did it. She bent fingers, tapped his knuckles, even held it against her ear straining to listen. Loki wore an amused smile when she did the latter and then jumped when a tickle of magic touched her.

"You're so cool!"

"Cool?"

"Y'know. Amazing. I bet you're the coolest person here." Loki's smile gained a bitter gleam and he suddenly did not find this child as amusing as he once did. He did not tell her about Thor, she would discover him soon enough come breakfast. Jane didn't see his smile turn false and bitter, the awe-filled gleam remaining in her eyes. She hugged the small wolf to her chest and scooted a little closer to Loki yet still on the bed.

"My name's Jane. What's yours?"

He answered her although his tone was disinterested. He was going to go bed.

"Loki?"

"What?"

"Loki." Jane smiled toothily. "I like it. Loki. It's a nice name."

The man stood before her stiffly, his eyes narrowing by a mere degree and then softening. His name and his magical arts—both bestowed upon him by his mother—were two of the few things he truly treasured and kept close to his heart. Not that anyone knew that. The child, Jane, kept calling his name, not for attention, but apparently she liked the way it rolled off his tongue.

All at once she yawned and Fenrir mimed her with his own tongue rolling out. Brown eyes blinked and each time they stayed shut just a little longer. Unbidden, one of Loki's hands eased her to lay down and pulled the covers up. She would be tired, the move, the new surroundings. Often child adapt better than adults think they would and a part of him wondered why she hadn't bawled and cried like children so regularly do. Loki supposed he should be grateful; he disliked tears and liked children even less. Had Frigga not asked him, Loki would not spare this mortal another glance if even a first one.

Her breathing was deep and steady.

Loki frowned. "Fenrir, you're not staying here." The wolf pup grumbled and snuggled deeper. Loki left carrying a sulking canine by the scruff of his neck. He did not realize how often this scene would repeat itself.

Breakfast saw Frigga entering the hall holding Jane's small hand in her own. All of a sudden Jane was very shy and hiding behind her adoptive mother's skirts. Odin and Thor stopped talking at one another to peer at the newcomer, Thor for the first time.

"Mother? Is this a new servant you are training?"

"Thor, that's no way to talk to your new sister."

Loki smiled when his elder brother choked on his cider. If this occurred more often, the mortal may prove useful for something. Thor walked around the table squinting his eyes at the tiny mortal. His mother beat him to the punch. "Yes, she's a mortal; yes, she's from Midgard; no, we're not retuning her, Odin." Her husband grumbled something into his cups. "I expect all of you," she pinned Loki with a stare and if not for his poker face he would have started, "to initiate her into Asgardian customs and take care when playing with her. She's young. She has much to learn."

Jane was still hiding behind Frigga's skirts yet she took a cautious peek at Thor. Even when kneeling he towered over her. Her jaw went slack and Loki found her reactions amused him. At last her tongue worked.

"You're huuuuuuge!" Thor boomed out a laugh and Jane staggered at the force of it. Everything about him was large and loud.

He held out a hand. "Hungry?" She reached out to take it but focusing on the figure past her had Jane grinning.

"Loki!" She ditched the hand and ran straight to the gold and black clad figure. To everyone's surprise, especially his own, Jane hugged him. For a second, Loki's surprise was as evident as the rest of them until he schooled his features. He looked up at his mother, Jane still attached to his waist.

"Is it a Midgardian thing to be so touchy?" He did like the part of her ditching Thor for him.

"Where's Fenrir? Do you have him?"

Thor snorted. "That bitter-toothed canine? Tormenting some poor soul no doubt." Fenrir did not like Thor. At all. The feeling became mutual over time.

"Boys, not at the table. Now, Jane," said child was sitting next to Loki, having crawled into one of the empty chairs. Her chin just reached the table. "This is Thor, your eldest brother. Loki, you met last night is the second eldest, you now being the youngest. You may not remember him but this is Odin, your father." Jane met his gaze and swallowed audibly. The All-Father certainly had an imperial presence. Frigga pinched her husband and he lessened some of the tension in his face.

"Welcome, Jane of Midgard, to Asgard and my house, now your home. We will be sure to take care of you." Jane leaned back far as the chair would allow. And she thought Thor had a loud presence.

Frigga smiled. "I'm glad that's settled. Now, once you three are finished with breakfast, you can take Jane on a tour around Asgard." There were protests at once. Thor had plans to spar with the Warriors Three and Sif and then the tavern afterwards; Loki wanted to make himself scarce in the library. Frigga smiled and the room's temperature dropped ten degrees. Loki and Thor shut up and mumbled acquiescences. Jane picked at her food more than ate it—it was food that they served, sort of, but certainly not breakfast food. Where were the pancakes? Nevertheless, she drank enough cider to give herself the hiccups.

Loki's forefinger tapped to a fast rhythm, a sign of his growing irritation until his magic quickly melded his face into a gruesome creature and he scared the living daylights out of Jane. She gave a cry and fell out of her chair, cured of the hiccups and a beating heart.

"That was mean, Loki!"

His smile was rascally. "You're welcome."

They started with the town. What could have been tolerable, a new younger sibling was like getting a servant or minion, quickly turned into a chore. Thor was good-humored about it but Loki found the fact remained: He didn't quite care for children.

For the most part, Jane had to tilt her head back to see anything. Everything was tall and buildings her had a tendency to spike out of the ground. Mountains surrounded Asgard but the air felt comfortably warm, not too dry, and something in the air tickled her senses. At some point in time Thor put her on his shoulders and was knocking off all the names of places she pointed to.

"And that one? The one with the red anvil sign?"

"A smithy's shop. Armor is forged there."

"Is that were you got your hammer?"

Loki smiled. Thor coughed. "Ah, no. That was, er, at another place and time."

"How'd you get it?"

"Yes, brother, how did you get it?"

"Look here," Thor exclaimed. "A sweet shop. You must be hungry."

Behind him, Loki smirked. Oh, he had some memories to tell their new sibling especially with his brother in earshot.

Sweet shops—it was something honey-based and very sticky and very, very messy—tailor shops, the views from rooftops, meeting merchants, seeing and smelling or better yet tasting food from vendors, bookstores (that was one of Jane's favorites), the artisan street, bakers' street, the town center where performers came and showcased their skills, musical shops, places of holy sanctuary and places of scholastic study left Jane with the continued eloquence of "Wow". The best they served for last if only because she refused to go anywhere else the rest of the day.

An orrery.

It was magnificent. Midgardian skies at night were dark blue if not black; Asgardian skies looked kissed by a blood orange and then faded into a bruised purple yet you could still see the stars. Jane took out one of the books, expecting information of the skies she saw above but she couldn't read it. She couldn't read any of them. Picking up as many as possible, which meant three total and they weighed perhaps equal to her, Jane dumped them onto Loki's lap.

He was not happy about that.

"Can you read this? What does it say? Can you read it to me?" Her questions tumbled out fast, not waiting for a reply before beginning another.

Loki sipped his mead. "I'm illiterate. Ask Thor." God of Lies indeed. Jane turned her head to the other Asgardian. He was asleep, four empty cups cluttered on the table. She looked longingly at the text.

"Can you get me paper?" Loki flicked his wrist. "And something to write?" Another flick.

She went to work.

Few people visited the orrery so it was quiet. An old clerk coughed and wheezed his way by every now and then to shelve or catalogue one thing or another but the princes of Asgard and their charge were left alone.

The mortal did nothing but write, run out of paper, ask Loki for more and then go back to work. Tears of frustration stung her eyes sometimes and Loki found himself softly telling her what one rune meant. She smiled up at him with such joy when he did that. Asgard's first sun had set and the second hugged the horizon, bleeding along its edges like a broken yolk. Loki yawned and stretched. It was time to go home. He shook Thor awake. Time to go back to the castle. He turned to find Jane.

Gone.

"Jane?" He hadn't used her name yet and his tongue found it awkward. No response. He called it again. Nothing. He scowled at Thor, roughly cuffing him awake. "The child's gone."

"What?" Thor rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Gone! She was just here, scribbling away." Thor looked down at the floor. Indeed, there were papers scattered everywhere and books too, but no Midgardian mortal.

"Mother's going to skin us alive." They shared a look and quickly began checking under tables and in between shelves. How could they lose a Midgardian child? Not like they were particularly smart or fleet of foot.

They did find her, each heaving a sigh of relief—Mother wasn't going to skin them alive after all—and it was Loki who had to pick her up and teased the book out of her hold. Thor excused himself under the pretense of cleaning up their mess left at the table.

Loki frowned. She had a death grip on this book and he had to be careful not to bruise her. Mortals are such fragile creatures. Jane blinked up at him.

"Loki?" He said nothing back but was able to extract the book from her now that she was semi-conscious. "What's this mean?" Her words were slurred with sleep.

"_Yfir_." She squinted her eyes at the runes. "It means 'above'." She pointed to another. "_Sky_. Means cloud."

"And this one?"

"_Hani_, it means—" He stopped, Jane slumped against his chest but blinking awake slowly. Loki quick read the runes. "What is this kind of book doing in the orrery?" Jane's brown eyes were still focused on his person. He clicked his jaw shut. "It means nothing. Come on, we must get back to the castle." Jane was suddenly very awake when she found Thor and thought he was throwing away all her papers and Loki took the time to hiss some not very nice words to the clerk about the books he kept hidden in the shelves. The poor old man was wide-eyed and about to suffer a fear-induced heart attack but nodded nonetheless. Non-star or -sky related material would now be kept at his desk and nowhere else. (On the upside, he was wondering where his volume of "A Steamy Night in the Stars" went to.)

Jane tried to assume independence and walk and hold all her papers, (alas the brothers forced her to leave the books behind albeit this was tempered by Loki hinting that they had more impressive books at the castle library) but she had tripped and scattered her papers enough times to force Loki to buy her a sack at the nearest shop. Her small legs still couldn't keep pace so Thor smiled and raised her on his shoulders again.

That night had her dreaming of stars, riding on shoulders and Loki teaching her runes. Fenrir yipped beside her in sleep.

In his own room Loki looked out at the night sky jeweled with stars with a curled lip. Today had better not become a regular occurrence.

She was like a parasite. Loki would walk down one of the halls and Jane would be on his heels followed by Fenrir like a trail of chicks following the mother hen. Loki did not like that simile. He wanted not to be analogous to one, a mother hen and two, he didn't like responsibility for the mortal. He didn't want to have to care for those two. Well, he cared for Fenrir. The wolf was his and Jane was, well, actually his, too, but he didn't _want_ her!

Loki paused in the hallway causing Jane, nose deep in one of the libraries books (it had been some time since her first arrival and her reading was ponderously slow but manageable), to walk right into him and Fenrir right into her. A small domino effect. Loki glowered at the young mortal.

"Go away, Jane." He called her child once, mortal, too. Mother had been furious and Loki had enough intellect to learn from his mistakes. It was Thor who had the insanity blip in his genetic code (you know, the one where he does the same thing over and over again hoping for a different result).

"Where are we going?"

"I am going to see Thor, the Warriors Three and Sif. You are returning to your room."

"Why are we seeing Thor and his friends?" By Odin's throne, this child had selective hearing.

"I am going to enjoy the company of adults. _You_ are going, if not your room, than the library. It's in that direction." No it wasn't but she got lost often enough in the castle that it wouldn't matter.

"I want to go with you." She continued to walk after him, forced to trot a little quicker due to his longer gait. Loki pinched his nose. He had the patience to deal with Thor and his martial-mayhem buddies and not the will for a Midgardian youth. He was slipping.

"Fenrir," he snapped, "take her to the gardens, the dungeons, I don't care where but not in my general direction." Fenrir obeyed and Jane's cries of his name and his unfair tactics echo the hallways. She called him a stupid bilgesnipe.

His agitation doesn't show but Fandral has a knowing smirk on his lips. "Did your fan keep you late as usual?"

Loki's features are schooled into his mask; it's much easier to fool these five than a five-year-old. "Jealous, Fandral?"

"Over the affections of a Midgardian tyke?" he scoffed.

Loki raised placating hands. "Don't fret, Fandral. I'm sure one day some tavern wench will fall for your good looks instead of your brain. Give it time, just not too much time."

Volstagg chuckled into his cups. Fandral kicked at him.

As soon as Thor walked in the door he had their attention and Loki faded to the background, silent as a shadow. He was there yet he wasn't. It ends as it usually does, with a constant loop of sparring matches and by the end Loki suffered a blow to the shoulder blades from Volstagg. Worse things have happened and Loki limps back to his room under the disguise of one of his illusions standing tall, straight, regal. Beyond his doors his room is awash in papers. Colored papers. They dot his sidewalls and litter his desk and furniture and by the crunch under foot litter his floor too. He'd recognize those sky-star sketches anywhere.

"Jane!"

He snaps his fingers, summoning Fenrir to his side and after ten minutes of fruitless snuffling about, Loki figures his younger sibling bribed the canine. Fenrir shrugs his haunches in an _I-don't-know-what-you-mean_ gesture. Loki dismisses the beast and lets his thoughts settle, pushing aside his vexation. Ah, he knows where she is.

And there she is, still sketching and coloring papers. His 'ahem' makes her jump but where Loki expected a guilty, hand-in-the-cookie-jar expression she just flashes a sunny grin and runs over to him, stopping just shy of touching. That, was not what he expected.

"I found a new con-con," she took a breath and spoke the word slowly, "constellation! Here! I drew it for you! I was going to add it to your collection. I found it after you taught me more runes. You're super smart Loki! How do I get as smart as you? Did you read every book in this library? Do you know everything?" She was equal parts flatterer and admirer. Loki wondered when her awe would fade and she'd be enamored with Thor. Just like everyone else. Still, his ego worked a smirk and the soreness was forgotten, for the moment.

"I know things because I've traveled." He eased into one of the chairs, the library had many and Jane glances up from her book.

"You've been to the Rainbow Bridge?" They haven't let her down there though she met Heimdall once. He smiled at her.

"Down the Rianbow Bridge and beyond." Now he had her attention.

They both miss dinner, Loki still spinning tales and lies and semi-truths to his young audience and he's a little miffed when she catches more than a few of his falsehoods. Whatever happened to youth and gullibility?

"You married a troll?"

Loki nodded sagely. "Her name was Broody and it was either that or be made into stew. I should have chosen the latter. Less pain." Ah, there it was.


	2. Chapter 2

**This whole speed writing just before a major project cannot happen again. Needless to say, it probably will. Peachy. **

**Until I come to my senses, enjoy.**

**Hawkz**

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_What Might Have Been: Chapter II_

Before she was six in Midgardian years, Jane had a macro-impact on the economies between realms.

It started with pancakes.

For too long she had been without butter, syrup and sweet batter delights and Jane would have no more of it. Waking up early was difficult without an alarm and Asgardian time befuddled her more than their lack of pancakes. Jane had to go to an artisan shop and describe her wants, wait a few days and then be given a device of wooden beauty. Bells for the most part told the juncture of the day. Aesir live thousands of years; the idea of boiling time into days, hours, seconds was preposterous. Nevertheless, the grizzled artisan was happy to tinker and Jane got her alarm clock. A little wolf sculpture tottered out at the desired hour and howled to a bright pearl-blue moon. Apparently royals paid for nothing in this city (though they had tabs everywhere) so Jane gave him only what she could: a sketch of the stars. He was kind enough to take it albeit skeptically.

The wolf tottered out and a melody likened to the howls of wolves jostled her awake. The sun wasn't yet in the sky but a white-blue paled the darkness on the horizon. People would wake soon enough. Jane tripped her way into a cloak—she was getting very fond of commoners' tunics for their effortless style of dress—and had her boots on soon than later. Not unusual, Fenrir slumbered outside her door; he had ditched Loki again. Jane could understand why. Loki didn't do tummy rubs. The pup yawned and hugged her heels until the kitchens where he abandoned her for scraps.

Odin may not believe in opulence, not like the elves of Alfheim, but he was a king and some manner of splendor was expected. Domestic hands were already kneading dough and chilling milk and cider to break the morning fast. Jane found what she was looking for. Markl was the head cook's apprentice and nephew and he liked anyone who liked his cooking. Jane tugged on his apron.

"Did you find it?"

"You tell me," he said. He nodded off to the pantry—do not be fooled, this pantry cold feed the castle under siege for quite some time—and told Jane to look at the color-tagged bags. Five different cereals stared back at here. Two were corn-like, another oats, but fourth's time the charm, it tasted like flour. She stole a bowl and cup and filled it, losing count at three, started over (dumping none of it back) and walked back to the counter. She had seen her foster parents do this a few times so she knew what was required just not the amounts.

Details.

A few egg-like things, something that was definitely milk, melted butter, and the flour-like substance. The first batch rolled out like stiff dough and burned. Second batch was all liquid and produced only paper-thin wafers. Jane was sulking in the corner when her sixth batch burned, again. Markl tried to cheer her up.

"There, there, little one. You can have Chef's breakfast today and try your own next time." Curious, Jane looked into the pot. Oatmeal.

"I'm going to try one more time."

Seventh times the charm.

"Wait! I need syrup! Where's the syrup!" No one knew what syrup was and Jane thought she might cry. "Y'know, syrup. Sticky, really sweet, comes from trees?" Markl paused his fruit dicing, hunted through the pantry and return with a small, glass bottle of umber.

"You put this in drinks—" he tried to tell her but Jane had snatched the bottle with a rushed thank you and was now drizzling it over her creation. A couple helping hands snuck glances; it smelled good. It tasted even better. Jane gave a piece to Markl and Fenrir. The apprentice was mildly more eloquent than Fenrir. "Odin's throne! What is this scrumptiousness?"

_These people peacock about their kingdom and they don't know pancakes?_ Jane felt sorry for them and made sure to educate them thoroughly on the philosophy and artistry of flapjacks. Breakfast was a little late to the royals that morning.

Thor peered at his sister's plate. For nearly a month now one of the servers winked at her and served her something slathered in honey. He never got any but when he thought about it, on the occasion that he went to taverns around dawn, people there ate something similar and they ate with great fondness. He opened his mouth to ask just what that was.

The doors opened and one of the king's advisors ran over, flustered and breathing hard. "Sire! Something's happened to our trade with Alfheim! I just, I don't, these numbers make no sense. We suddenly have a flood of elven merchants in our streets and their hawking bottles of sap. I've never seen such trade for one commodity. Silks and furs and coin, we have a boom on our hands! Do we cap it sire? Legislation? A tariff?" The advisor was panicking and Odin ordered him to take a number of deep breaths.

"Now, explain it to me why my kingdom suddenly obsesses over Alfheim tree sap."

"For pancakes," Jane supplied. Everyone turned to stare. "Well, you can't have pancakes without syrup." Duh.

"Pancakes?" Odin had never heard a more ridiculous word.

"Yeah, pancakes," she showed her father.

Skepticism painted all their faces. Jane frowned and asked the server if Markl would make some for her family. Hotcakes steamed on their plates in less than ten minutes. Jane smiled and extended her hand in a 'ta-da' fashion. Loki poked at his dish with suspicion. Thor tasted one bite and then finished it by the second. Alfheim above, these things were ambrosia! Even the advisor got one.

Odin swallowed and reached for his milk; they were terribly sweet. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his sons ask for thirds. "Daughter," his tone held a note of reproach. "Did you just upset the economic balance of my realm over…pancakes?"

Frigga found it immensely amusing that the Alfheim ambassador knelt to kiss Jane's hand when he came to visit the next season over.

* * *

It is only due to his mother's meddling that Loki shares so many memories with his younger sibling. She came from a commoner's background, that much was evident in her preference of tunics over the dresses Frigga tailored for her and she had a habit of stealing Loki's clothes. _He_ was the trickster god, thank you very much. He played tricks on others, not the other way around. She took one of his green cloaks once and proceeded to trip on it every fifth step. Yes, let her suffer karmic repercussions. But then she starting stealing his books, quills, and left behind drawings of the stars. He'd have to fix his security system. Then again, his main security system was a canine that rolled over on his belly whenever he caught a whiff of the young mortal. He'd set magical traps but the last time he stung Jane with magic his mother gave him a tongue lashing that had him shaking in his boots. Maybe he could set up one of those non-fatal hunter traps instead.

At least she spent much more time at the orrery than in the castle, shadowing him down every hallway. She still looked at him with stars in her eyes and on occasion called him her hero. Jane even wormed her way into his bed after a nightmare. Loki frowned. For someone supposed to ditch him for Thor she was taking her sweet time with it, and she still found his mage tricks reverential. His ego liked that very much.

Which is maybe why, upon finding her asleep in his bed, again, with Fenrir, Loki doesn't toss her out. Instead he huffs something out resigned and begins shucking off his muddied boots. He and Thor and Thor's gang had gone traveling through the realms again, and as per usual it resulted in blood and sewers and Fandral's oafish attempts at seduction and Thor getting laid.

Same ol', same ol'.

Loki cleaned himself up, anything short of an impeccable figure grated on his ego and nerves, donned a loose pair of pants and tunic and watched his young sibling's stomach rise and fall in the steady rhythm of sleep.

His thoughts wander to the day's previous actions.

_The realm was Muspelheim. Fire giants and fire demons dwelled there, most if not all unfriendly to the Aesir but then, that's probably why they went. Stirring up trouble would not be met out with punishment; in fact, taverns would laugh over their—Thor's and the Warriors Three and Sif's, never his—deeds. The Aesir held no love for that realm's inhabitants either. Thor wanted glory, his friends followed blinded by loyalty and whatever charming pheromones his brother exuded and none of Loki's caution, silver-tongue or logic dissuaded his brother from action. The dullard could never see beyond his own wants. _

_Loki dreaded the day Odin crowned his brother King. Odin's love for Thor, everyone's love for Thor, impaired them from seeing his faults, his imperfections, his unworthiness as King! _

Loki swallowed, fighting to grip his anger. A moment of mediation and his bloodless knuckles returned to their pasty color. Inches of distinction, but then, this world is built by inches. Thor saw actions only worthy when made in leaps and bounds; Loki was more pragmatic, he would even say wiser than his brother. He sinks back into his memories.

_Men, and woman, they may be but their hearts retained a certain immaturity. Why else would they travel to another realm for the purpose of battle and conquest? Yes, it was that kind of conquest. The battle part was easy; Fandral just need to try and seduce a woman, so Loki told their group. All but Fandral laughed, the swordsman glaring at the Asgard prince._

_Loki smirked. "Don't worry Fandral. Telling the women apart from their men is easier here." _

_Fandral cursed something under his breath. That particular incident Loki would not forget, nor the rest of his troupe. He'd never hit on another dwarf for the rest of his Asgardian life. Easy enough to find fire demons and easier still to goad them into battle. Thor roared and charged into battle, hammer held high. Loki danced among shadows using magic and wit to subdue his foes. _

_Volstagg scoffed at him about cowardice and darkness. _

_Loki sneered and sank one of his daggers into the neck of a foe. So the battle continued. Sif and Thor were a terrible pair of destruction. Mjolnir struck with lightning and Sif was equally deadly with a blade. Bitterness burned in the back of Loki's throat. Centuries past, it used to be he and Thor who fought back to back. _

_Lacerations and bruises aside, the battle left them untouched—nothing fatal, nothing broken. It was something to return to Asgard in triumphant about and celebrate at their usual tavern. Mead flowed liberally and even if a drunken Aesir was difficult to come by it didn't mean they wouldn't try._

_Volstagg made public his affections for his wife and his children were there to "ohh" and "ahhhh" his deeds. Sif smiled and stayed close to Thor, laughing at his jokes, replying with her own wit and charm. The Vanir Hogun and Asgardian Fandral were drenched in a drinking game, rallied on by cheering spectators. By their shirtfronts not much mead was making it down their throats. The God of Lies and Mischief retained his place in the shadows, forgotten. Quietly he drank his own mead. _

_She was a pretty little thing. Hair dark as his and flickers of intelligence in her eyes, her smiles were quick to surface. Loki found her amiable. They chatted, over tidbits of Asgardian culture, why he was sitting here instead of with the others, and general light chatter. Her eyes lit up at his magic tricks._

_Then Thor came over. _

_A drunken bellow of a hello made it past his lips and the woman's cheeks turned pink. Loki knew how this would end. Thor's sunny disposition and habit to battle his brother for a lady's affection had gone back for centuries. How, when it changed from a friendly brotherly rivalry to something that stoked darkness in Loki's heart, he did not recall. Maybe it was gradual. Maybe it was in that moment._

The thought comes to him in shuddering clarity: He might actually hate his brother.

Jane leans into the warmth of his hand, sighing herself awake. The Asgardian prince wasn't sure how long he had been caressing Jane's hair. Surprisingly, the gesture soothed him probably as much as it did her. All that energy she used to run around the castle made her warm to the touch.

"Loki?" He says nothing in reply but her slurred word spreads into a smile. "You're back."

"Aye, little one. That I am." Fenrir's tail wagged at the scent of his master and Loki gave him a quick ear rub. The pup lay his head back down beside Jane.

"Why are you hurt Loki? Who hurt you?" Jane asked, eyeing the physical injuries.

Loki leaned back in his chair, the darkness eating up part of his face. _Many people Jane, more than I previously thought. _Stygian thoughts clenched his knuckles, turning them colorless as the blood drained, echoed by his teeth grinding as his jaw contracted. He blinked and suddenly doleful doe eyes stared back at him. A chaste kiss along his jawline softened his features more due to surprise than anything.

"If you've ever hurt Loki, I'll kiss and make it better. Okay?" Jane looked equal parts serious and sad. The idea that Loki, he, her brother via adoption and not even the same race, could be in pain would in turn cause her pain and sadness floored him. Why should a mortal worry over him? Why should this tiny creature care for him? It lacked all sense. She shouldn't care. She couldn't care.

The suspicion showed on his face and Jane, for all her youth, saw his disbelief.

Jane sat there in his lap, not sure what to do. If hugs and kisses didn't make you feel better, then what else was there? Still sleepy, he brain raced at a sluggish pace.

She crawled off and rummaged through his desk. Loki did not like that she continued to do that. He'd have to teach he a lesson about privacy in the future. Wrapping gifts is a Midgardian custom. Asgards like to display their gifts, like an unspoken bragging right, a "my gift is better than your gift" sort of thing. Loki quirked an eyebrow at the bow, Jane encouraging him to unwrap the gift.

It was a deck of Asgadian cards.

What was next was a very serious face by Jane as she attempted a card trick. Loki sighed, tapped the card that was his. Jane flipped the card and it was the Jester. Loki narrowed his eyes. His sister wore a grin eerily similar to his own.

"Do it again," he softly intoned. Jane shuffled the deck. Loki picked his card—a King stared up at him. Loki thought he wore the grin of victory much better than his little sister. The young Midgardian puffed out her cheeks.

"Best out of three."

Dawn crept through the open balcony; he must have dozed off at some point. Loki used magic to draw the curtains and darken the room. His back was against the headboard, Jane curled up against his side, a beacon of warmth, Fenrir looped around his ankles, and cards littered the bed sheets before them. His thoughts of his brother were falling into disregard. Just before they faded to nothingness and his eyes closed for sleep, Loki let one more thought circle his head.

If he might hate his brother, he just may love his sister.

Frigga noticed Jane nipping at her brother's heels and to her wonder, Loki did not banish her. No shouts, no glares, not even a scowl blackened his visage. She watched them walk down the hallway. Loki, his gait and grace speaking of regality and her little Midgardian, nose in a book about Asgardian astrology, all but hugging him. He stopped, giving orders to a servant, and she stopped within a hair's breath of space between the two. She was getting better at reading while walking while following it seemed. Frigga watched them turn a corner, Fenrir loping after them.

_When did that happen?_

* * *

Thor was not like his brother, not like him in so many ways. However, that did not mean that even Thor couldn't enjoy a bit of mischief now and then. His little sister was Loki's second shadow and though she smiled and laughed in his presence, her eyes always sought his dark-haired half and even if Loki never beckoned her, she went running to him. She was an anomaly, this Midgard youth. It had been a long time—could he even remember when?—since another had chosen his brother over him.

Vindictiveness wasn't in his nature but Thor couldn't deny a sliver of pleasure seeing his petite Midgardian sibling quail beneath the covers.

"You're lying, Thor! There are no monsters in my closet!" Fenrir was with Loki so he had no fear of the wolf's tendency to acquaint Thor's flesh with his fangs. That the wolf wasn't near his sister was almost odd. Thor chalked it up to good luck.

He didn't bother hiding his smile. "The Frost Giants fear not the dark, Jane. Or the cold." He ghosted fingers up what might have been her spine and she shrieked, kicking at him for good measure. A tuff of brown hair and one brown eye wiggled its way from underneath the covers.

"The Jotunn," he continued, "_love_ to eat the flesh of mortals. Fire is not their friend, and they eat most food raw, so when a tasty little morsel of a mortal is in their path, they…gobble her up!" One more shriek and Jane tumbled off the bed. Thor bit his lip hard to keep his laughter within.

"They, they don't really eat humans…do they?" came Jane's voice from the floor.

"Aye, they desire human flesh like Fenrir desires bones. Instead of mead, they drink blood and they ooze a cold, dead smell. Claws the size of dragon talons and fans like a snake, they're twice as tall as Father and thrice as mean. All are evil creatures who would sooner torture you than help you." By now Jane had scampered under the bed. Thor stalked around the bed in exaggerated footsteps, using the silence to his advantage. "They smell your fear and they breath in deep," he inhaled sharply," just before—they strike!" A quick hand grabbed her ankle, Jane clawing for leverage and finding none. She dangled almost eye level with her brother albeit upside down. A couple gulps of breath later she was swatting at her brother with her dwarf-sized hands.

"That's not funny Thor!" By his chuckling, he disagreed. "Put me down. Now." The directive in her voice said Loki taught her well. She continued to dangle. She tried a new tactic.

"I don't believe you." Her voice was warrior-fierce and Thor liked that about his Midgardian sibling. She could be as hot-blooded as he.

"I speak no lies, little one."

"I don't believe you."

"Pray tell, what falsehood do I speak?"

Jane stewed in thought for a moment. "They're not all bad. There are nice Jotunn out there."

"Jotunn? Kind?" His grin mocked her worse than any laughter. Jane launched a finger at him, just short of poking him in the eye.

"That's right, you stupid older brother! There are kind, nice, sweet, pretty Jotunn out there and I'll prove it! There are Jotunn even prettier than you and your, your golden retriever locks!" His hysterics forced him to put Jane down before he accidentally dropped her. Thor wiped his eyes; an apology on his lips but Jane was no longer there.

"Jane?" Not under the bed either. It took him four rounds touring the bedroom and half an hour prior to realizing her cloak and boots were also gone. Where did she plan to go?

Odin did not know what to make of this. "Son, if you are to play hide-and-seek with your sister, the least you could do is hide yourself properly." A thunk sounded like he hit his head on the underside of the table. Curses confirmed it.

"Father, have you seen Jane?"

"That would be cheating, Thor. Have more honor than to cheat at a child's game." Odin moved to leave.

Thor mumbled under his breath, "She never told me we were playing hide and seek."

Odin went very still. "You _lost_ the Midgardian?" Thor did not like how Odin found it very credible that Jane could dupe him.

"I didn't _lose_ her," he rumbled in a defensive tone.

"Then where is she?"

"…not in her room. Or my room. Or Loki's room. Or mother's quarters."

"Would you like to add the realms of Alfheim and Nifleheim to the list?"

"Of course she's not—" He stilled a moment. The next words he spoke more to himself. "Heimdall wouldn't open the Bifrost for Jane."

Odin's eye was much more awake now. "She left the castle?"

"Why should I get the blame, Father? If she did, it's Jane's fault!"

"Don't blame a child for your incompetence. Now before your mother or—"

"What's going on here?" Odin and Thor turned to meet Loki's curious stare, Fenrir at his heels.

_You have nothing to worry about Thor. Your brother is a calm, pragmatic Aesir. He will handle this with grace and non-violence. _So he told himself. Why then were the hairs on his neck rising?

"Loki. Ahem. Brother. There is no cause for alarm. We are merely," his stumbling over words made Odin intercede.

"Jane is missing. Thor lost her." Thor has seldom seen Loki move so swiftly.

"_What_?"

"Be at ease, brother, she can't sneak past the castle guards." The hand on Thor's collar tightened.

"And how often did you and I sneak past these 'competent' palace guards?"

Point taken.

"She is in Asgard. No harm will befall her."

"And are all Asgardians friends to the royal family?"

Loki: 2. Thor: 0.

His brother's silence drew a hiss from Loki. He cocked his fist back, determined to break first his brother's jaw, then—

"Enough!" The two brothers were thrown apart by Odin's command and wielding of Gungnir. A tingling burn worked its way through their limbs and corporeal centers, making everything feel numb and spastic. "You are brothers! Family! Set aside your ire and work as family! One of you will search the castle and the other straight to Heimdall. He can tell you were Jane is quicker than you can search. Now go before your mother has all of our heads. Loki, you get the castle. Your brother can fly faster than any horse can run." Loki sneers but does as bidden. A small army of clones shimmers into being and part in all directions. The real Loki flicks his wrist and Fenrir melts into his real size. Large enough to eat a giant's stomach in one bite and snow-white, Loki used to ride his wolf into battle. His master need not command—Fenrir puts his nose to the ground. Wherever lil' Mistress is, he'll find her. Thor summons his hammer and takes flight. Odin walked at a slower place, lifting tablecloths with Gungnir while looking for a small Midgardian form.

Jane looked left, then right, then left again. The streets looked different at night. The buildings taller. Then again she wasn't riding on Thor's shoulders. And she was alone. No one let her go anywhere outside the castle without an escort, not even to the orrery! (Which she could walk to blindfolded.) Jane did a little skip, reveling in her newfound independence. The thought of her mission made her scowl. ("Operation Prove Thor WRONG") How and where she could do this was proving tricky. Such a dilemma she hadn't foreseen. Maybe she could ask directions to the nearest nice Jotunn?

She had slept the day away on Loki's bed and when she finally came to her brother was gone as was Fenrir, thus she had no qualms about staying up past her bedtime to find these nice Jotunns. Her body clock would be out of whack for the next few days but that was what naps were for. Maybe her best bet was the library. The castle had a colossal library. Jane bit back a groan. That meant she had to walk all the way back home. She pivoted 270 degrees and walked forehead first into leather and armor. Jane had to tilt her head not as far as she used to to meet his eyes. The gears clicked in place. He was a dwarf, probably from Nidavellir.

"Sorry, mister."

His reply was guttural and harsh but Jane suspected that was just how his language sounded. Alfheim dialects were often melodic. His partner was saying something, gesturing at her but the one Jane walked into shot him down vehemently, pointing to her cloak. Jane quietly padded away, the two still arguing. Her cloak wasn't anything special. Well, it was special to her; it had been Loki's. It even was his green color and the clasp was a beautiful geometric symbol. Getting back to the castle should not be this difficult. For starters, it's that giant gold buildings way down yonder; second, it was a right at the sweet shop. Or was it a left? Wait, where was the sweet shop?

Jane sank onto one of the crates in an alleyway. Thor and Loki were going to make such fun of her when she got back home. She was getting nowhere fast. Jane peered down the alleyway, darkness staring back at her. It was irrational but Jane felt the darkness leer at her, not unlike a sick clown grinning over some secret, twisted pleasure. Jane gulped and huddled a little further into her cloak.

No. She was not afraid. She, daughter of Odin and Frigga, sister to Loki and Thor—she was strong!

She could do this.

She would do this.

She'd march right into that underlit alleyway and find her way home. One step in and she felt the shadows eating up along her leg, crawling over skin—

No way was she doing this.

Jane turned with all the grace and poise of a member of the royal family and booked it like the dickens.

Two breaths later saw Thor touch down near that same passageway. Heimdall said she was sitting right here, waiting and wondering where to go. He called for Jane to no response. A squabbling pair of dwarves loitered not far and Thor worked his All-tongue abilities to speak to them. "Pardon me good sirs, have either of you seen a small mortal girl in a green cloak from hence?"

The balder one scratched his head. "Aye. She wore a nice trinket." Thor stilled his hand. Dwarves were known to covet material goods, especially metals and gems; he shouldn't take offense. He encouraged them to divulge more. His grumpier companion hawked a glob of phlegm onto the street.

"Mortals ain't needing such trinkets. Though the pretty lass wore it well." Thor struggled to cool his ire. Brash action would not help his sister. With force he curbed his tongue into something courteous. Dwarves do not harm children by nature. Most realm inhabitants did not.

"By chance, did you see the route she took?" The balder one pointed to Tavern Street. Perfect. Drunks would surround his sister at this hour. If they valued their lives, they better be the harmless, giggling drunks and none of them near his sister.

In a rather anti-climatic end, Jane found him.

"Brother? Are you drunk?"

"What? No! This gentleman knows where I can find a young girl this time o' night, but first I got to out drink him. Then he'll tell me where you are." If Loki were here, his intelligence would neatly sum up the situation: Thor came into Havel's tavern. He was known to swindle patrons into drinking more than they planned through mental manipulation, though never physically. Believing Thor sought female company for the evening, he sought to liquor up the young prince before introducing him to one of the younger prostitutes that frequented his bar. Call it a middleman fee. Clearly, he did not know whom Thor sought.

Jane processed none of this. A small cock of the head was all she gave Thor. "Be careful trying to find your way home, okay?" She exited the establishment. The nice bartender told her the Asgard castle was down Fiddlers Street and then north. Thor nodded to her retreating form and went back to sipping his mead.

Wait…

"Jane!"

Fenrir found Mistress and the Oaf sitting just outside the castle gates, the latter swaying even sitting down. He howled and Master Loki flickered next to him. The tension in his face diminished at the sight of his green cloak and the telltale form beneath it. His brother stank of mead and strong liquors.

"Our sister was missing and you visit a brewery?"

Thor staggered to his feet. "Curse that wretched Havel. I think he gave me something stronger than mead. And it was necessary, Loki." Loki's face did not find his story credible. "He said he knew where Jane was but only if I drank some of his ale."

"You didn't smear this cur's blood on the pavement for holding our sister hostage—why?"

The red in his face made his frown look close to anger but Loki knew better. He knew when his brother was truly angry.

"She is fragile." Said mortal was belly-rubbing Fenrir again. Loki felt a touch of chagrin. _Ah._ Had she been in the establishment, she would not likely have survived Thor's destruction of it. His brother had thought this through. It was a peculiar notion, not one Loki was accustomed to making in regards to his brother.

"That was, well-thought of you." He did not elaborate on his thoughts and Thor clasped him on the shoulder, an unspoken goodbye, and parted ways with his siblings. He and Havel would have a talk tomorrow about just what he put in his mead.

Thor leaned over to the side, heaving.

The day after tomorrow, perhaps.

Jane found herself on the receiving end of a Loki stare down. Feigning innocence only got her a harsher glare. Right, tricking the trickster god was something she'd have to work on. She fell back on her safest bet:

"It's all Thor's fault."

Strange, that usually worked.

"I'm…sorry?" Sorry for getting caught. "Sorry for leaving the castle. Alone. Even if I was fine and am old enough to walk unattended." The God of Lies wanted to roll his eyes. First, no mortal should quip to him about old age, or older age. Second, if this was the start to Jane's rebellious phase, he had just the cure.

Never before had Jane truly feared Loki. She had no reason to.

His magic twisted shapes and shadows until his eyes burned green and the encircling night had Jane hugging herself for comfort. Loki knew he looked reminiscent of the demons that sometimes plagued her dreams. His voice was a hissing rasp.

"Do not go where I cannot find you. Never again." When shaking her head didn't banish demon-Loki she squeaked out a watery 'yes'. Fenrir was on his belly, ears down and tail tucked under. "Good." The dark and the demon face receded and Jane felt like she could breath again. His outstretched hand was as much a command as his voice. Jane hesitated a hitch then took his much larger, slimmer fingers into her own hand. Her brown eyes found her feet suddenly fascinating. She snuck a glance, looked back down and then built a pillar of courage out of watery sand.

"What about hide-and-seek?"

His demeanor paused, ruminative, but not his stride.

"Just try hiding from me Jane."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hmm, maybe I sped this up too much. Ah well, I can always go back and change it. Thank you Anastasia soundtrack for getting me through this one. I am humbled by your views and reviews. Merci beaucoup, tout le monde. **

**Hawkz**

* * *

_What Might Have Been: Chapter III_

Domestic tasks are beneath the Prince of Asgard. A veritable god to Midgard's mortals, he did not do something as basic as cleaning. Cleaning the wounds of his sister was in one of those iffy-grey areas and he added extra antiseptic unguent to the laceration. Jane tried to pull her hand away, a soft cry falling from her lips.

"If you don't like it, don't try lifting Thor's hammer."

"I didn't lift it, he handed it to me." And them she promptly bowled over from both the weight and the hammer's magical properties.

Truly, did Thor have any amount of intellect rolling around up there? What was he thinking, handing Mjolnir to a mortal, nonetheless their sister? The easiest and truest answer was he thought not at all. Loki suspected Thor made his way through life via muscle memory. If his muscles couldn't get the job done then he did not know how to proceed and would freeze like a computer in need of a reboot.

Loki swallowed a sigh and dabbed another one of Jane's cuts with soap and water to wash out the dirt. She had wanted to watch her brother and his friends contest in the games—an annual bout of physical prowess where men beat their chests, yelled insults and bragging rights and either proved themselves right or were the object of ridicule until they could redeem themselves. A lowbrow week of drinking and revelry fit more for the masses than Asgardian royalty. Perhaps that is why people loved Thor; he acted so much like them Thor could very well be one of them. Loki was of more cultured tastes.

Still, he had gone with Thor and their gang of warriors, not noticing that Jane snuck out of the castle to follow. Again. Did they need new palace guards or was this some form of Midgardian magic not yet discovered? Either way, the drinking had led to a drunken brawl and it was only Loki's reflexes that saved Jane from getting drenched by a keg of beer and more than a few lacerations.

"What were you even doing in that tavern?"

The girl turned petulant at his badgering. "I was thirsty. It's a free country." There were times when Jane used these Midgardian sayings that made no sense. (Didn't they teach her about the Nine realms and that slavery was abolished—and not very thoroughly—only a millennium ago? Other realms have other customs, so he would say.) This was one of those times. He gave her a little pinch, causing her to jump.

"Little mortals who are too young even for diluted mead shouldn't be visiting taverns."

"They serve juice!"

"Not while this event is on show they don't. Too many are willing to pay for hard cider to make the non-alcoholic stores worth anything. Stay at the castle next time."

"I just wanted to be near you and Thor." Her voice was so soft and dispirited that Loki almost stopped to look at her. He was not a master of disguise for nothing. He continued to bandage her upper arm as the thoughts fell into place. Aside from himself and his brother, maybe some of the servants, whom did Jane really know? Did she even have any friends her own age? Loki perused his recollections and did not recall Jane ever playing with someone her own age. Or rather the Asgardian equivalent. Aside from Thor and himself, she had no one else.

She was alone.

He knotted the bandage tight enough to stay put but loose enough for blood circulation. He had put enough bandages on Thor back in the day to know the difference. Loki remained crouched, almost eye level with his sister. One lone finger taps his cheek, staring at his sister sulking in a chair he rustled up.

"Fine." He concedes. "One game. We play one game and then you either go back to the castle, the orrery, or, if you stay, you must never leave Fenrir's side. Do we have a deal?" Those small brown eyes sparkled better than polished gems at his words. A funny little flutter in his chest hummed to life when she hugged him, all but jumping up and down in delight.

It was a rare thing when Loki played with her so Jane had to give this serious thought.

"Hide and seek!" Well, .76 seconds of serious thought. His smile leans into something a little wicked.

"Very well, you hide, I seek, but what does the winner get?"

"Get?"

"Oh yes, there must always be a prize for the winner." His nonchalant shrug of the shoulders and tone stated it as fact. Winners have to get prizes. Jane patted her pockets. She had candy—which she was _not_ giving him, hide and seek or no—some paper, and this. Her fingers paused. It would have to do.

"The winner gets this box." Nothing special about it, a small wooden box inscribed with runes of no great distinction. Loki's eyes went flat.

"A box?"

"Yes."

"What inside?" Jane drew it swiftly out of his reach, an 'ah-ah-ah' wag of her finger denying Loki.

"You only get to find out if you win." Silence. Perhaps he underestimated his little mortal's abilities. She knew him well enough to play up his curious nature, but he wouldn't tell her that just yet.

"How do I know that what's in the box is worth it?"

Jane held a hand to her chest, acting as if offended by his remarks. "You speak absurdities! This box is worth many, many things! Things beyond your wildest dreams!"

"Your allowance is in there, isn't it?" _Shit_ (Markl was teaching her words). By the sound of his droll voice, he pegged her and he knew it.

"No." Loki wanted to smile one of his truer smiles. Little Jane couldn't lie to save her life. "It's [coughs] much more valuable than that! It's something else and, you know what, you're not allowed to guess. Cheater!" Great, now she would have to put her candy in there or Loki would know she lied.

"I'll make you a deal, if you win, I double whatever's in that box." Candy in the box didn't sound so bad after all. But, wait.

"And if you win?"

Her brother smiled and leaned until he was almost eye level.

"For one week you must do as I say and not tattletale to Mother."

She loved Loki, she really, really did. But she really, really did not want to play the Conquered and the Conqueror with her brother.

"I get a half hour's head start. One hour time limit. And no cheating." He was so going to cheat. Jane rethought her words. "At least no Fenrir." Loki graciously granted her that. He closed his eyes and began to count.

"One one-thousand, two one-thousand…" Jane waved a hand in front of his face, made sure he wasn't looking and darted off. That double allowance and candy would be hers.

"Remember," Loki intoned, smug and arrogant and Jane wanted to punch her brother. "No tattle-telling."

"Cheater," she grumbled. He was that and a number of other words Markl had taught her. Jane was not spiteful but she was going to spike her brother's pancakes with pepper.

Loki almost cackled with glee. He loved having minions. After he enjoyed a week with his sister though Thor had to learn giving his mortal sister Mjolnir was wrong.

Thor stormed into the dining hall the following week, his face as red as his hair.

"Not funny brother."

_Au contraire, mon frère._ Yes, that Midgardian phrase summed it up quite nicely.

Jane was laughing hard enough for the both of them. Odin hushed her with a finger to his lips but Frigga saw his lips twitch at a smile. He, too, had a soft spot for his younger son's shenanigans. Unlike Sif's prank, Thor was able to wash out the color with a heavy dose of shampoo and Jane's ready help. His hair then smelled of flowers—it explained Jane's eager, helping hand—but at least he was back to his "golden retriever" locks. Whatever that was.

Unexpectedly, Jane was down at his heels instead of Loki. She smiled up at him. "Are we going to see Sif? Is she going to beat you again?" His lip quirked into something not quite a pout. So it went Loki, Fenrir, Sif _and_ _then_ him? Obtaining female affection, a sister's affection, should not be this difficult. "Will Volstagg be there too?"

Loki, Fenrir, Sif, Volstagg and then him, apparently.

Hogun and Fandral were wrestling. For such a reticent Vanir, Hogun always jumped at the chance to wrestle. Neither had shirts on. Sif was maintaining her blades and Jane quickly left her brother to watch the lady warrior work. Sif tolerated her at the beginning—at first she wasn't sure what to make of Thor's new sibling—but the stars in Jane's eyes when she looked at Sif softened the lady warrior's demeanor over time.

"You're pretty and brave and really good in battle. How come my brother hasn't bedded you yet?" Volstagg never chocked so fast on food. All five locked eyes on Jane. Jane's brow furrowed. "That's the right verb, right? Markl's been teaching me Asgardian slang and customs—"

"What sort of customs?" Thor's voice finally got out of his throat but it was a squeakier rasp than he recalled. _That cook's apprentice is going to be baked in his own ovens._

"I saw him with a lady once. At night. He was taking him to his room. I asked why and he told me it was a gentleman's duty to take women, many women, to bed. Loki takes me to bed all the time."

"WHAT?!" the thunder of Thor's voice drowned out the Warrior's Three and Lady Sif's own exclamations of surprise. Loki chose the most inopportune moment to walk through the door.

"What is the racket," he began but couldn't finish. Thor's face was very close to his own and very, very angry. He held him aloft with one hand and rattled him like a babe's toy.

"How could you brother? I always thought you had more honor than that! And a child?" Thor's voice was dipping into higher and higher octaves.

"Speak words, Thor, don't spit drivel at me! I have done you no wrong."

"You have bedded our sister!"

The Warrior's Three and Lady Sif could not remember the last time Loki was speechless. They would have traded Volstagg's weight in gold for a Midgardian camera then (if they knew what a Midgardain camera was and did anyway).

"I would never bed our sister, Thor. Put me down."

"Thor," Jane sounded frightened now. "Can I not sleep with Loki anymore? Is that bad?" Of all persons, it was Hogun who spoke.

"When you say 'sleep with', young Jane you mean…?"

"Sleep. Slumber? The Land of Nod? What's the Asgardian term for it?"

Oh. Whoops.

Loki was still in his brother's grip, feet not quite touching the floor. _The sheer _idiocy _of these five!_ "You all thought I actually—!" He was going to bash Fandral's face in if only because even in a haze of rage Loki was sure he could beat the swordsman. Thor set him down, brushing out wrinkles from his brother's shoulders.

"Erm, sorry, brother. It was, her words were, ah, misleading, and. Ahem. Markl's been putting in certain thoughts and, words, into our sister's mind." Loki's blazing green eyes did not lessen their intensity.

"Like my sexual seductions of our sister?" Oh sure, it sounded ludicrous when _he_ said it. Loki set his eyes on Fandral. "Step aside, Hogun. I get this round."

"Wait," the swordsman raised his arms in a placating, defensive gesture. "Why am I the only one in trouble?" Loki answered by tackling him and the two proceeded to roll around on the mats. Jane looked back to the Lady Sif.

"So…"

"There is no hope for Thor in the matter of discretion. Let's keep higher standards for you, dear Jane." Jane nodded. So her brother was not going to bed Sif. Shame. They seemed to like each other.

The evening culminated with a feast at Odin's table where diplomats, Asgardian nobility, ambassadors, and a plentitude of Asgardian high society and wealth dined. Jane usually stayed near Loki, sometimes Frigga during these events but Loki avoided her since this morning and Frigga was playing politics with her husband. There was no place for Jane to go. She did find Loki, after the mead had worked its intoxicating hold over a number of minds and revelry more than politics came to the front.

Loki hunted near the walls, half in shadows and away from the festivities. Thor and his friends had a crowd around them, laughing with the one in the center, Thor, when he told one of his exploits. Jane walked over to her dark-haired brother.

"Why don't you join Thor? They look like they're having fun."

He didn't spare her a glance. "My presence would not make this evening's festivities more enjoyable." He continued before she could ask another nagging question. "People expect certain things to stay in the shadows, little one."

"But Thor loves it when you spend time with him. He told me so. He misses when it was just you and he." The surprise that flickered on Loki's face came and went too quickly for Jane to catch.

"This is a day for mischief, Jane. Do not sully it with cruelties." It took a few minutes for Jane to process Loki's implied words. Almost ten Midgardian years old, she was still learning to decipher Loki's silver tongue. Jane leaned away, turning to leave. "I wasn't lying, Loki." At the edge of the exit, Jane saw her brothers. Thor, beloved and worshipped as the unspoken heir to the throne, stood in the light and smiled. Loki, alone, stood at a distance dressed in somber colors and hid himself in the darkness. Frigga and Odin were further away still, talking to Asgardian nobles. It painted a very sad picture.

No one wanted her here tonight. That this family loved her, Jane understood and felt in their touches and words, but tonight Thor wanted to be a prince, Frigga and Odin rulers of the realm and Loki, Loki pushed her away. Tonight no one wanted her. For a moment she remained at the edge of the hallway, playing with her dress—a beautiful indigo violet her mother tailored for this occasion—and felt tears sting.

They loved her; she knew they did. But this one painfully long moment of rejection was tantamount to profound heartbreak. To experience this in a recurring cycle would be torture. She left the party, wiping tears off her cheeks.

That night, Jane slept alone in her room.

* * *

Midgardian lives go by so quickly. Loki blinked and he had a sibling who followed him everywhere. Loki blinked again and she was not to be found. Fenrir was by his side, faithful even if he did love Jane's affection and attention. She wasn't stealing his covers and bed space anymore either. To be fair, he did leave for a diplomatic session in Vanaheim though between the general amicable relations amongst the Aesir and Vanir and his silver tongue things worked themselves out more quickly than had the average Asgardian ambassador or worse Thor gone in his stead. Odin liked sending his son out as a plenipotentiary figure; Loki understood the realm of politics and diplomacy in a way Thor never did. He was very much his mother's child. Upon entering his quarters, he expected the overflow of star charts and drawings—Jane had never stopped as she aged—and found nothing. He has gone on trips before and come back to find his room colored to look like the Asgardian sky. Last time she was waiting for him at the gate, asking him details regarding the realm and if he brought a souvenir.

For a moment he stood in the doorway, thinking he had the wrong room. Everything was in its place, his desk aligned and in order, none of his clothes taken. Loki frowned. He liked things neat and uncluttered. Just the same, he had come to expect Jane's version of chaos. She wasn't in her rooms either.

Loki put his fingers to his mouth and a distinct whistle shrilled to life. Fenrir came running at him full blast in his larger form and the coil of his muscles that had the wolf stopping on a dime.

"Where is she?"

Images of the orrery floated into his mind.

"Bring her here." Something was wrong and he wanted to know what, but she would come to him, not the other way around.

Fenrir bowed his massive white head. What Master wanted, Master got.

The prince of Asgard waited. Time ticked by, taking his patience with it and he began to pace, formulating thoughts and getting his senses under control.

His little sister was not waiting for him or in his room. In fact, while devoid of dust, his room and the things in it looked like they hadn't been touched in some time. What did that mean? This was Jane. Little mortal Jane. She followed him day and night. She loved Fenrir. She watched him perform magic like it was the grandest wonder in the universe, a fact that still made him puff with pride. She was also his sister. His. She had no right to ignore him like this. Thin extremities raked his hair; none of this made sense and Loki felt his anger simmering. Add enough heat and it would boil.

Neither Fenrir nor Jane had returned yet. Theoretically his wolf and Jane could be walking up the streets, across the courtyard and up a series of labyrinthian open hallways, all of which takes time. Why she would want to Loki hadn't the foggiest idea but this was Jane. His sister was weird like that. Loki cooled his ire and closed his eyes. Meditating and irascibility did not bond well and to best access Fenrir with a mind-link, Loki needed concentration and a clear psyche.

His wolf was still at the orrery.

_Fenrir?_ The unspoken question tickled the wolf's ears and he whined.

Fenrir was still at the orrery because he couldn't get inside the orrery.

It was warded.

Had Loki's mother not been his teacher his shock would have fizzed out the connection. Discipline kept his focus strong. Why was the orrery warded? Through Fenrir he could smell and hear and he smelled and heard his Midgardian. Fenrir howled.

"I heard you the first time Fenrir! Go away!"

That little minx denied him. Him! Loki! And Fenrir! She didn't reject him. She had no right to reject him! If there was any rejection to be given it would be from him to her!

Magicking himself to the orrery was not a difficult affair due to Fenrir's presence—he could magick anywhere his wolf was. In spite of his magical might, he felt the ward's burn when he tried to cross the entrance's threshold.

"Jane," His voice carried across the plaza but it held no anger merely confusion. "Why are there wards? And why did you not come when Fenrir called you?" She knew what Fenrir's howl meant, he used it to page her constantly whether as a minion or a sister or anywhere in between.

"Go away, you stupid Loki." He reeled back as if slapped.

She just called him stupid!

"Jane," now his voice was a snarl and more than one passerby jumped. "Get down here before I have to come in there." He had to sidestep a glass bottle aimed at his head. "Do not throw glass bottles at me little mortal girl!" The next bottle was made of tin.

"JANE!" The wards may burn at him but he was Loki, Master of Magic, God of Lies and Mischief, Prince of Asgard and son and student of Frigga; these wards would not keep him out. He crushed one of the planetarium's walls.

"Hey!" Jane rushed out, eyes ablaze. "What do you think you're doing, Loki?" His rage blinded him.

"Come when I call you or face the consequences for your actions."

Jane grit her teeth, arms crossed in front of her chest. "What do you want Loki?"

"Why," green eyes flickered down once, twice and now he took in her form.

She was tall. Well, not tall—never tall against him—but taller. Childhood fat thinned into coltish arms and legs, cheekbones hinting at a coming beauty, brown hair swept up in a lazy elegant bun. Even her hair was longer. But nothing in her face suggested the child he left behind—behind when? Loki gave a subtle gulp.

How long had he been gone?

"Yeah, Loki, you've been gone a while. Over two years. Nice to know you were coming back in my lifetime." Smooth, if Loki had to describe her voice it would definitely be smoother, a little lower in pitch. There was a fleeting glance at her neck but that was all Loki gave it. Plus once more.

Ruthlessness colored Loki's actions and they cropped up like flickers of a flame only to disappear quick as they came, hidden under his brotherly façade. The older Jane got, the more she saw them and was occasionally on the receiving end of them. A mirthful smirk, or a nasty, snarky quip mostly but sometimes his hands clenched and his body shifted in ways predatory. Jane wasn't sure what to make of it, but then, she didn't have to—Loki left.

"How old are you?" The still-angry part of Jane wanted to tell him to do the math, he was smart, but his statement was quieter than he meant it to be. Uncertainty was plain on his face. He looked almost lost. The hostile posture of Jane's mellowed into something more open.

She was almost thirteen in Midgardian years. In less than a month in fact. That was almost a fifth of her mortal life gone. Thirteen years didn't even add up to a whole percentage point of his own lifespan. The prince of Asgard was suddenly, painfully aware of how mortal his little sister was.

"Take down the wards, Jane." It was soft-spoken yet still a command. Some of that hostility seeped back into her and Loki cut her off. "Take them down before _I_ do. Last warning." Ten breaths flowed in and out and then the ward's barrier came down. He entered the orrery to find her cleaning the ashes of the burned ward. His hands cared not for her personal space. He touched her face, hands, arms, he even twirled her a full 360 degrees. Whereas the child Jane wore commoner's tunics, the Jane here donned one of Frigga's tailored dresses. The back of his mind clicked this indigo-violet color with the dress she wore one night long ago. She wore it better now. Not an adult by even her short Midgardian standards yet there she was, aging, maturing, stepping steadily towards death. Without him. Loki cupped her face and stared into those brown eyes he knew so well. Up close they looked more sepia-colored than brown. Beside her left ear, two of his fingers tickled with magic.

Involuntarily, she smiled, a little ruefully, even so, a smile nonetheless.

Still his Jane.

He hugged her. "I'm sorry," he said, alas it was too muted for her ears.

"That's not fair Loki." He considered it a victory that she hugged him back. Only to push him away, wiping at her eyes. "Go to the castle. I know Thor's missed you. Mom's throwing a feast to celebrate your arrival in the next day or two."

Bright green eyes narrowed. "Where will you be?"

"Where I've been for the last year and a half." She turned her back on him then and picked up one of many books littering the table.

"Only a year and a half?" There was a furtive glance, weighing whether or not to tell him. She didn't. "Yeah, just these past eighteen months. Or I guess by Asgardian time it's one full season and a half of another. It was summer when you left."

Indeed and now the sky was ready to dust the streets with snow. Hot drinks would replace the chilled ones. If he remembered right, and he always did, Jane loved hot cider. Extra cinnamon.

"You would miss the celebration?" A snort told him otherwise.

"Mom would never let me. I've had to take Asgardian waltzing lessons. I expect Mom wants me to dance with a few Asgardian noble's sons. At least I won't step on anyone's toes or cause a small civil war by insulting the dwarves. Their words for 'Hello good sir' and 'I just fucked your daughter' are eerily similar."

Loki had to laugh at that. Jane may never achieve fluency, she didn't have the All-tongue, but Frigga would see to it that she could greet and bid good-bye all the diplomats who visited Asgard's capital. "Then you must have had an even tougher time with elfish. They have twelve intonations."

"I could say anything I want to Ljósálfar, the Light Elves, and Gylfi and his son Garikith would kiss me all the same. They really enjoy their syrup-spawned affluence that I inadvertently created." The image of the king and prince of Alfheim kissing his sister did not please him. More alarming, she spoke of them with familiarity. It seems he had missed much while away. Jane floated around him while they talked, half listening as she skimmed books, added them to her pile and wrote a fast scribble of runes on an unfolded scroll. She looked at peace here.

"You still study the stars I see."

"I never stopped." Then it was good to know some things did not change in his absence.

"Are you coming back to the castle?"

"No." Quick and curt. Seems she was still angry with him. Even if he did apologize (and even though she didn't hear him).

Loki cocked an eyebrow. "Where then do you sleep?"

"In a bed with someone more than twice my age." Loki's head never snapped up so fast. Jane's grin looked too much like one of his own. "Don't worry, he's very gentle."

"You, what, _Jane_," Loki was choking on his pent-up fury so badly he couldn't get the wards out. He would _murder_ this man. Touching his sister, a member of the royal Asgardian family—his sister! "He's right there behind you." He'd start with castration; leave nothing to chance, like Odin stopping him halfway. Even if he was mildly sure Odin would let him continue given the circumstances.

It was an old xenosmilus, sunbathing in the open window and caring not for Loki's presence.

Loki glared at his sister. "Not funny Jane."

"_Au contraire, mon frère_," she chimed, delighted at his grumpy glare. Loki sagged into one of the couches. He was tired; he made an exhaustive trip from Vanaheim and dealing with the people of Vanaheim, and he wanted his bed. Loki surveyed his sister; she acted like he wasn't even there. That anger simmered back to life. It was dark out; the two suns having long since ducked beneath the horizon. Good enough for him.

"Time for bed."

"Night Loki." Not a blink later Jane realized her feet weren't touching the ground. "Loki?"

"Bedtime," was his only explanation.

"Then go to bed! Alone. I have books to read." One flick of his wrist sent them back to the shelves. Shelves all taller than her and out of reach. "Not funny Loki."

"_Au contraire—_"

"Shut up! I mean it. Put me down." He tossed her onto Fenrir's back, her landing as graceful as the squawk she let out. By the time she sat up straight Loki clicked his tongue and Fenrir was moving. Fast. How he jumped rooftops without crushing the building under his weight was an experiment and mathematical equation for another day. The more important question was how much would it hurt her to jump off Fenrir right now, before they got to the castle? Fenrir didn't even stop at the courtyard, instead using the open hallways and balconies as jumping posts until Loki's familiar green curtains rustled at the wolf's landing. Fenrir bent his head down and Jane slid off with a huff.

"Fine, I'm at the castle. Good night Loki." Much like his mother in a fit, Jane pivoted and strode straight for the doors. It rattled but didn't move. Sometimes she really, really hated magic. "Open the door Loki." The hiss of hot water told her he was in the bathroom. She knew he could hear her. "Do not make me get Fenrir to break this door down." Assuming he would. The glare in Mistress's eye said if he ever wanted another tummy rub he would break this door down.

Fenrir assumed a couchant pose, head ducked a little guiltily. He hoped he wasn't about to lose tummy-rubbing rights for the rest of his life.

Her brother emerged face washed and wearing a loose black tunic and pants. He didn't seem perturbed by his very angry little Midgardian at the door. "I'm two seconds away from calling Thor here and having him blast this door to Helheim," Jane warned. "One."

"Nightgown's in the dresser. It'll be more comfortable than sleeping in your dress."

"T-I'm not sleeping here Loki! If I have to stay in the castle then I'm going to my own bed." Jane's glare was met with a droopy stare of Loki's own. Closing his eyes for a moment, Loki raised his hands and snapped his fingers. Jane turned to go.

The door still wouldn't open.

"What did—"

"It seems your bed's currently burning. How terribly sad and inconvenient." He leaned back against the headboard and settled into a comfortable position, eyes closed.

"What!"

"If you don't want the nightgown I suppose you can have one of my shirts."

"I'm telling Mom." A stony silence settled as Loki finally opened his eyes to look at her.

"You have two minutes before I magick you." He may not like Midgardian standards of time but they did prove useful on occasion.

"You-You're not allowed to do that!"

"One minute fifty seconds."

"Loki!"

"One minute."

"That was not fifty seconds!"

"Ten."

Jane stomped over to his dresser, viciously snatched whatever clothing was on top and stomped over to the bathroom. The doors were very heavy and very large but Jane did not let that stop her from slamming them with some force. He heard her yell stupid and his name through the door multiple times. It made him smile.

Still quite the firecracker when pushed.

She looked even tinier in his clothes if no less angry. She stood there a minute, huffed a lock of brown hair out of her face prior to crawling into his bed. "Last time Loki." Funny, that was usually his line.

He hugged her like a teddy bear and she was—a soothing presence that made the bad dreams and visions go away.

Puppy Fenrir peeked over the edge of the bed. They breathed in sync with each other and none stirred when he placed tentative paw on the bed. Now the other. One more. Last one. Still nothing. He wiggled his way in between where Mistress's feet met Mater's shins, curling up in the space. He had missed Mistress. It hadn't been the same without her. It was good to know Master realized that. Fenrir would have to make sure he never forgot it again.


	4. Chapter 4

**This inspiration will dry up eventually and then chapters will come at a much slower pace. Eventually. Theoretically I will be studying for an exam and you won't hear from me in the next...four days, preferably a week. (But we all know how ****_that_**** may go). **

**To all reviewers, followers, and favorites: You humble me. Ich danke Ihnen.**

**Hawkz**

* * *

_What Might Have Been: Chapter IV_

Teenagers are the worst.

Snarky, sarcastic guttersnipes who steal the affection of his wolf, ignore him in the hallways, duck out the back door to avoid him entering a room, and—in the greatest of all trespasses—use up all the syrup for themselves so his pancakes must go without! (That he could order more promptly from the kitchens is beside the point. It's the principal of the thing.) Three days Loki suffered these atrocities and if nicotine did anything for him his room would be black as a chimney, pipe at his mouth. He made do with pacing. His celebrated return was the following day—looks like one certain mortal had as bad a sense of time as he when cooped up in the orrery.

Frigga learned what he did to that building—_tattletale_—and Loki, just shy of a millennium old, sulked in one of his mother's chairs like he was only a tricentennial. His mother lounged across from him looking every bit the Queen and mother of his more youthful memories. It was unfair how she used the silence against him. His jaw clicked around, his words sounding petulant.

"She wouldn't come out. Not my fault."

The Queen set down her drink with barely a chink. "Yes, I believe the wards made it quite clear she wanted to be left alone." A niggling amount of guilt did eat at her for sending her son away in the first place. A representative needed to be sent to Vanaheim and the only viable choices were Thor or Loki. Ambassadorships were long only by Midgardian senses; the Aesir found a few years in another realm a very short time. Loki had a way with words Thor has yet to, and may never, achieve. He would more likely insult his hosts, if unknowingly. Odin wanted Loki and Frigga thought very, very hard about the downsides of a minor war with Vanaheim in return for keeping her son and daughter close. Odin's wife never liked it when Queen duties came before her duties as a mother. Often she threw aside royal duties, realm be damned, for her children and family. One of the few times she acted as queen instead of mother and Frigga feared she caused irreparable damage between Loki and Jane. She had faith in Jane; her daughter had a very sweet heart. Loki, however…

"It's not my fault."

Frigga sighed. Loki could—did—have his father's stubbornness and a deep-rooted visceral vehemence to admitting his wrongs. More times than she could count Frigga wanted to roll her eyes at her boys but Loki didn't learn just magic from her. The Queen's face was pleasant and cool of any frustration her children caused her (she did not have these wrinkles and gray hairs from _just_ age).

"Yet your second shadow is not in the vicinity." Nor was Fenrir. Loki huffed and crossed his arms in front of him, resembling a youthful boy getting a wag of the finger.

"Odin couldn't have sent another?" A look of pain passed the Queen's face and Loki caught just the edges before it smoothed over.

"You have duties as Prince of Asgard, Loki. You know this."

"Funny how I don't see Thor doing much of these 'princely duties'." His spite was bubbling to the surface. He must be feeling rather indignant to speak of his brother with her. Most often they don't talk of Thor.

"You did leave without even saying goodbye. You could have at least done that courtesy to your sister."

"I don't even always bid farewell to you! Why should that change now?" Nervous temper made him jumpy and Loki was no longer sitting down, but standing and glaring down at his mother. "Why would you even bring a mortal to Asgard? She'll be old the next time I close my eyes and reopen them. Then she's gone! Why bother bringing her into this house at all?" While not a shout, his voice rose in volume until the Queen heard the unspoken tremors.

_Because I love you so much._ _Because I love you and I want you to find some semblance of happiness but I wonder and very much fear I have set you on a path leading to greater despair. _"Loki, you are not without fault in this." Her son scoffed at such an idea. "You cannot always apply Asgardian customs to a Midgardian. You may wrestle with Thor but you know better than to use that strength against your sister. You and Thor went through the same process, have you forgotten? One of you would say something mean or vicious in a flash of emotion, the other would take it to heart and the rift remained until the other apologized and settled the matter. Sometimes the apologies were verbally and sometimes through actions, but there were apologies, nonetheless."

As children, it was usually Loki who suffered the broken heart from something someone said or did. It was almost a cruel irony that now he caused another pain and suffered it's consequences. His mother's touch was soft on his cheek. "Oh, my son. I know you love Jane. And she you. Do not torment the two of you by letting this divide fester. But take caution: She is going to be a Midgardian teenager for the next five seasons or so. She'll have a flair for the dramatic more than usual. It'll be like you and Thor going through puberty, but shorter." _Thank Odin for that_.

It wouldn't taste much different from bitter medicine but Loki needed to swallow his pride to get back his relationship with Jane otherwise he was going to be dealing with a lot more wards and a lot more temper tantrums.

"So. This fella threatened to jus' _burst_ right through one o' my wards, huh?" Wizard Yogul eyed his customer suspiciously. His wards were premium products. People don't just walk right through them. Not intact anyway.

"Mr. Yogul, this feller is my brother. Loki. Prince of Asgard and asshole extraordinaire. He does a lot of things to the consternation of the people around him. Plus, he's wickedly talented at magic." Jane sat on the stool in front of the wizard, sipping a hot beverage. It was getting nippy outside and the clouds threatened snow any day now, possibly this evening. Yogul's tongue clicked the pencil around his mouth. He had more holes where teeth should have been, which gave his words a slight slur. A perpetual stubble of prickly white hair peppered his sagging jawline and the thinned out hair on top added to his image of 'old wizard'. The pencil danced around in his mouth, sticking out one side of his mouth where his left canine used to be. He managed a whistle.

"Well lookie you, lassie. 'Ad I known you was a hotshot, I'd 'ave charged double." He wouldn't. He's too fond of pretty customers and Wizard Yogul was always saying things he never planned to do. Jane gave him a lopsided smile. "But I kin see y'like ano-nym-ity." The wizard tapped his nose and winked at the girl. "Secret's safe lassie. For a price."

"You're incorrigible. And married." Yogul still leaned his cheek over the counter, waiting. Speaking of married…

"You lazy mule, what are you doing bothering customers? I see you chasing skirts and you'll be with a bad back for weeks sleeping on the couch." His wife's presence filled up the room as did the volume of her voice despite being on the second floor.

"Better'n sleeping next to a fat old hag who snores, keeping me up anyways." His wife's curses were both creative and colorful. He turned to wink at Jane. "Tha's how y'keep life interesting, lil' one. She'll be keeping me awake for diff'rent reasons t'night."

Jane flushed red. Yogul and his wife loved one another but they had an unorthodox way of showing affection. Legs curled up underneath her, she took another sip. Yogul puffed out a series of short bursts, a telltale sign her was thinking. His fingertips drummed against one another, his pencil clacking around his mouth.

"Any magician good enough can get past most wards. This princely fella kin get past maybe all wards cuz he strong like bull. So," Yogul's smile took a turn towards demonic. "We jus' 'ave to make 'him work fer it. Y'see?"

Jane looked up from her drink, startled. "You can do that?" The wizard took mock offense. "The Great Yogul kin do much, lil' one." His scratchy cheek got a chaste peck and a glowing smile from his customer. "You're the best, Mister Yogul." The old man positively glowed.

"Ha! Did y'see that, hag? I still got it!"

"Good! Now come up here and let me give it to you, you old crotchety gizzard of a wizard!"

Maybe Jane should take that as her cue to leave…

She headed for the castle. In the month leading up to Loki's return—yes, she knew he was returning and made a point to remain in the orrery—her mother made her promise to be there for the celebration. Messengers came nearly everyday, sometimes twice, to relay: "Lady Jane, your mother wishes tell you your presence is required for your brother's, Prince of Asgard, celebrated return." She had the wards up for a reason. At least Garikith would be there; he was always courteous and fun to talk to. She loved hearing his stories of Alfheim. However, the tediousness and time-consuming nature of getting ready for the ball had as much appeal as kissing a Dark Elf. Just. Ick.

Even while lost in thought muscle memory walks her over to her mother's quarters. There was a chiding, loving quality to the tenor of her mother's voice. "Jane, there you are. Come in, come in. We must get you ready." Jane may not yet be thirteen in Midgardian years but she knew favoritism when she saw it.

Do not be mistaken, Frigga loved her daughter and Jane understood that, too, but Loki held a privileged place in the Queen's heart. Their mother babied Jane in ways she didn't with Thor or Loki versus her unconditional love for Loki. That Aesir could attempt world domination and his mother would still love him. For Thor, Frigga would always see him as the strong, reliable son. Thor could break down in tears and never would Frigga think him the lesser man; she trusted him to always get back on his feet whereas Loki often required a helping hand to get back up. They were all her children and occupied the most tender of places in her heart. Thus, this fissure between Loki and Jane, undergone by the two of them with the usual histrionics of youth, called for a mother's touch. If that meant warding them together in part of the castle for an undefined amount of time, then, well, there were times a mother need be meddlesome. (Jane may protest for the first few weeks, but sacrifices must be made.)

Frigga took much longer to dress and coif her hair, Jane sitting on the bed and swinging her legs in the way that said, "I'm young, I'm bored, can we _please_ go now?" Frigga placed a sweet kiss to her temple. "You look beautiful dear."

"Thanks Mom."

"I think Garikith would appreciate the color."

"Mom!"

"He's a very sweet boy. I approve." Jane flushed red. Her mother did not just tell her—subtly in that way her mother does—to go flirt with the Alfheim prince.

"He's just a friend." There was a knowing shadow to her mother's smile and Jane saw the resemblance between her brother and mother. They met Odin just outside the hallway leading to the festivities. Tenderness softened his one good eye. "You look wonderful, love. As do you, little one."

Jane tippy-toed to peck his cheek, though a short bow from Odin may have helped. "Thank you Daddy." She had never quite gotten out of her habit for the more Midgardian colloquialisms but Odin liked the familiarity of them. Thor and Loki were already inside, engaging the guests but an announcement of their arrival had everyone delivering a bow to their king and queen.

Frigga nudged Jane in the back, voice just low enough for Jane's ears alone. "Go welcome your brother home."

A soft flow of Asgardian nobles and elites weaved their way around the prince, giving him compliments. Jane gave Loki honesty: "You look ridiculous."

Loki's smile at his sister teetered on false. "Good evening to you too, sister."

"You look like something out of a Midgardian Christmas pageant." From his confused look, she clarified, "The holiday down there involves reindeer. They're similar to the Dain that wander around Yggdrasil."

"I believe you mistake the Dain reference for Eikthyrnir. What I wear is a symbol of power."

"Isn't that what the cape is for?" Loki ground his teeth. She had sharpened her tongue in his absence, too. On another day that would please him, but for now, he set his gaze on her dress. No green.

"Mother tailored you another dress I see."

"I picked the color." Gold embroidered light blue—that was one way to figuratively give him the middle finger. He donned his political mask.

"Aren't you going to wish your brother home?" Bored disinterest laced his tone, which Jane found odd. This ball was dedicated in his honor, not his brother's, and yet he did not look happy. Like his father he was tall but unlike Odin he would not bow. Jane took hold of his hand and, in a role reversal, kissed the back of it.

"Welcome home brother." Neither were her words cold but neither did they hold all that warmth Loki remembered when she was younger, so her next phrase surprised him. "Thor would be overjoyed if you went to talk with him. He missed you greatly." A tug in his chest wanted him to go, begged him to go. Pride rooted his feet. Jane gave him a pitying smile.

"Pride goeth before a fall, Loki." Loki narrowed his eyes at his sibling. No one gets this wise in two years. She left before he could reply and another well-wisher kept him from following. He smiled at this stranger but out of the corner of his eye he saw Thor. His brother boomed out a laugh yet he sent more than a few glances at Loki's way. He, too, wished to talk with his brother. More meaningless greetings came and went, drowned by drinks and snack-sized bites. Silver tongued, Loki excused himself from his partner and calmed his nerves on the open balcony. People were there, but like him, they sought the quiet and solitude and would not intrude on his brooding. A shadow settled beside him.

"Did you miss it?"

"You've never asked that question before."

Thor kept his gaze on Asgard's capital, the lighting of laterns, shops and homes sprinkling fuzzy gems of muted yellow throughout the streets. "I've never, until Jane came here time did not mean so much to me. You left and I did not think twice about it. The next day Jane was at my door, looking for you. You've been on diplomatic missions before, much more than I, so it seemed only natural to me that you'd eventually disappear on another one. She, she looked very lost when I told her your return was uncertain." He paused to sip his drink and Loki was surprised to find his brother sober.

"I've often slept late and spent my days idle. Maybe it is due to her short lifespan but the times were few and far in between where our sister idled. For half a season she waited at the gate. Rose up with the sun, brought a book and waited. She drew a lot of those sky-sketches of hers. I couldn't understand why she didn't go play or visit the orrery or even watch mother while she wove. Surely her time could be better spent. Sometimes she followed me around the castle, and one time accused me of keeping you locked away for myself." Thor paused and Loki had to reign in his desire to ask Thor to continue. The silence grew and it was only the centuries of discipline that kept Loki from fidgeting. Thor's voice was as subdued as the lights in the town.

"I don't think I ever appreciated how much our sister loves us. With you gone she showed me more affection." So his sister did leave him for Thor. Loki almost growled. "But I passed your quarters once. She looked to me to fill a hole and I failed. I don't think I ever could fill your shoes." His brother gave him a lopsided smile. "I don't think you realize how many of your shirts she stole while you were away. She just recently returned them. Mother thought she'd have to tailor you another wardrobe. Did you know she tried to bribe Heimdall into sending her to Vanaheim?"

"Heimdall? Bribed?" The incredulity in Loki's voice made Thor laugh.

"Indeed. She stole a tankard of ale from one tavern, one of Mother's dresses and Father's tapestry." That tapestry was huge. How did she get it out of the gate without getting caught? How did she carry any of those things being as petite as she is? Thor shrugged his shoulders at the unspoken questions. He knew that tapestry, too. "Our sister is nothing if not clever when put to the test."

Loki did not understand this change in his brother. Nothing he hinted at should result in such a change. Rude, brash Thor, always ready to swing his hammer to solve his problems. Thor wasn't telling him something.

"I missed you brother. When was the last time you and I bonded? Just the two of us? No Sif or Warriors Three, or even without Father and Mother as a buffer? Has it really been that long?" If any asked, Loki would deny the tightness in his throat at Thor's honest inquiry.

"It has been some time," he admitted.

Thor finally turned to look at his brother. "Do you remember when we broke Mother's favorite vase and tried to glue it back together with honey?" Loki could not stifle his laugh at the memory.

If people noticed the princes of Asgard missing from the gala, none suspected them of talking the night away in old memories with fondness and half-hidden smiles and a touch of aged chagrin at particularly embarrassing events of past.

Loki dressed himself with a briskness that flowed into habit. Much unlike his brother and like his sister, Loki did not dally in the mornings. He relished a crisp, clean appearance and a bedhead was not conducive to that image. Jane wasn't at breakfast. Again. Her sulking was getting terribly old.

Odin looked up from his papers as if noticing how quiet it was. "Where has our Jane gone? It has been some time since she broke her fast with us." Frigga bore a suggestive twinkle in her eye.

"Oh, I'm sure Garikith would know."

"The Alfheim prince?"

The Queen nodded. "He and Jane waltzed at the gala yesterday. They looked so cute, Garikith accommodating Jane's stature." The God of Lies hunted his wolf down via mind link. His order was brusque:

_Jane. Now._

As it was against Asgardian policy to torture the royalty of other realms, he would have to make do with interrogating his sibling.

The orrery. It seemed almost a waste to send his wolf out just to verify his hunches but he didn't want to waste time hunting Jane down. Not today anyway. No wards either. Good. He marched right through the entryway and looked for the clerk. Not here. Equally good. He wanted no interruptions or visitors. He didn't bother locking the door. Not like Jane could overpower him. Her nose was in a book but gave him a glance from over the pages when she heard his footsteps. She spoke before he could.

"Did you talk with Thor?"

"Indeed I did."

"Good." Quietude settled again. This was a bit of a first for Loki to have to put actual effort in regards to his silver tongue abilities with Jane. He internally cursed teenagers. He decided on gratitude first. Clearly his thanks startled her for she look up at him for a long five seconds, then nodded her head and went back to reading. Loki pursed his lips. He was grateful for the night with Thor but not overly grateful. Not all relationship can be so easily repaired, case in point his and Jane's.

Loki strode over to her, not quite in her personal space but close. "Jane, look at me." There was an asking edge to his voice. Jane did as he quasi-asked. "Why are you angry with me?" One of her fingers fiddled with the corners of the yellowed pages. She would be blunt. Loki may dance around topics and play up his cleverness with ambiguous terms but Jane was not yet thirteen and subtly wasn't her thing.

"You hurt me."

Her brother almost sighed. "I have duties as a prince of Asgard, Jane. You cannot expect me to set aside everything to court to your desires." He said nothing about doing that same thing when it suited his own purposes.

"You didn't even say goodbye." That's it? That's what this is all about? Incredible. _Mortals and their customs_, Loki scoffed. "I don't live forever, Loki." He did not like that so many people reminded him of this fact. "Dad gets letters from realms all the time. You never wrote to me. Not once. You forgot me, so I forgot you."

Except she hadn't. Loki knew she hadn't from Thor's story and the hurt that colored her tone. She never forgot him; she had deeply missed him and was covering that hurt with brooding. Loki finally let out that sigh bottled in his chest. Kneeling in front of his sister, he had to tilt his head just slightly. Even sitting in a chair she was so short. He did this, once, when she was younger and it was a mock performance. Not this time.

"Jane, I am sorry." Oh yes, pride was a very acerbic pill to stomach. Loki offered her his right hand, palm up. "I promise not to leave without notice, either verbally or a note. If I go anywhere for longer than three days you shall know of it henceforth. I swear upon Mother's name." Jane's eyes were wide. She may love her brother and he spoiled her but Jane was not a stranger to Loki's immense self-regard.

She opened her mouth to reply.

"Jane!" An abrupt turn of her head meant she did not catch the black hatred coloring Loki's visage. He should have soundproofed the building, too. She left him to go to the window. It was Garikith; he waved up at her. "Are you free this afternoon?"

"I…"

"I thought you'd like to have lunch with me." His mask was back in place by the time she moved to face him. Loki said nothing. Uncertainty knitted her brow.

"I'll be down in a minute, Gar."

_Gar?_

Jane wrung her hands. "Loki?" He tilted his head enough so that she knew he was listening. "Will you be at the castle tonight?" Spite gurgled in the back of his throat and for once, Loki held it down.

"I plan to spend the day in the library, yes," he said.

"Okay, good. I'll see you then." The smile was tiny but it held nothing false nor was it marred by sullen thoughts; it was half a smile she used to give just to him. Progress, then. She moved to collect her things, stuff some papers in a satchel. Loki's memory snapped awake—it was the same sack he bought her to carry her papers the day he and Thor showed her around Asgard. The leather was supple and cracked. It had seen years of use and his mother's fine stitching extended the strap to fit his sister's growing body. The thread his mother used was a dark emerald green.

Jane waved goodbye and walked out to meet the Alfheim prince.

_Better_, he decided at last. Like his relationship with Thor, his with Jane was getting better. However, like his mother cautioned him, there would be a lot of work involved. The slump in Loki's shoulders straightened. Good thing tenacity was in his blood.

Fenrir looked up to the second story of the orrery where he could smell Master. Mistress was walking away with a different man. The wolf ran in two quick circles. _Master, she's going away! After her! After her!_ Master came out, watched them leave for a tick of time and then turned in the direction of the castle.

_Master!_

Loki did not turn around. Fenrir looked at his retreating back and then bolted for his mistress. _Stupid_ _Master_. Fenrir spent a long time without belly rubs; he would not repeat that mistake. His form melted into his puppy size, which made running up to them take longer but when he tottered up to his mistress, she bent down to pick him up. The stranger she was with smiled at him and Fenrir came this close to chomping off his forefingers.

"Sorry, Gar, Fenrir doesn't like being touched by most people."

"He seems alright with you."

"Oh, he's known me since I was a kid. He's just used to me."

The pup's green eyes watched this stranger and each time he stepped just a little too close to Mistress his black lips curled back into something distinctly unfriendly. Loki forbade him biting people after that incident with the hand—the woeful reason he could only come close to biting off this stranger's fingers and not actually bite them off. As if Light Elves had the reflexes to best him. Fenrir had to settle for glaring and growling until Jane gave him that look. Just glaring then.

He smelled food, glorious food, but he would not be—oh, was that chicken?

Jane laughed at the drool pooling from Fenrir's mouth. "Here you go Fenrir." A plate of deer femurs just for him! Furious tail wagging was not far behind the first bite. It was settled. No one but he and the Master could have Mistress.

Garikith spooned out the noodles from the communal bowl into a smaller bowl for his partner. "I can't believe you've never had jungle fever. It's one of the best things this side of the Nine Realms." Jane took a tentative bite and then breathed fire. Dark elves revived, that stuff was spicy!

She drained her glass of milk and felt smoke choke her throat. "That's 'jungle fever'? That's, that's insanely hot!"

Gar's smile was wide and his laughter rich. "Here, pour some of this sauce in it. When it's too hot you can add this to take some of the punch out. Better?"

Jane nodded. Garikith's white-gold eyes crinkled in delight. It only took one question about Asgard's skies to get Jane jabbering about physics, magic, the stars, always the stars, and her findings at the orrery. "Oh, but, I'm, sorry. Here I am taking up all the conversation. You know how I get about the sky. How long are you and your father staying this time around?"

Garikith slurped up a particularly long noodle. "I convinced him to remain until after your birthday."

Jane looked more than a little astonished that he even knew the idea of a Midgardian birthday let alone the date. "Well, my birthday is just a family affair. We, I, don't like to celebrate it. Not publically anyway."

"I know, but what are friends for? It'll be a small gift from me. Promise." He held up his hand in a mock Asgardian salute. Jane laughed.

Fenrir eyed the two, taking a pause in his bone gnawing. _Just friends?_ He could work with friends. But if the boy overstepped his bounds… The bone in Fenrir's jaw splintered in half.

Garikith, Gar, had all the honest charms Loki lacked and the manners Thor never cared to remember. He made Jane lean further in when he described the realm of Alfheim. This was not the first time she heard these tales but the idea, the stories of life outside Asgard fascinated her. How she ached to travel, to see, to experience. In return, she told him about what she remembered from Midgard—not much, and it grew fainter by the season—and which Asgardian rituals she never quite got used to.

"Are you telling me you've never ridden an elk? Not even a docile doe?"

"They have horses here in Asgard and once, Dad—Odin—let me sit astride Sleipnir. He's a colossal black stallion that Loki bred a few centuries ago. Very intelligent though he didn't care for me much."

Gar shook his head. "My people learn to ride animals of fleeter foot. Some even learn before they walk. Your horses may be fast but few things are swifter that an Alfheim buck. Majestic and beauty but terrible to cross in war, our archers can balance on their backs at full sprint and hit a target more than two hundred paces away. Asgardian horses can't match that."

Jane rebuked him with a grin. "Don't say that in front of our stable master. He takes great pride in his stock."

"Your stable master has never seen our stock if he makes such claims. You should see a herd prancing through the snow. The sight brings home why nature is so beautiful."

"Maybe one day I'll see an Alfheim elk," Jane conceded.

"Yes," Gar agreed, "perhaps one day you will."

Lunch ended soon after that and Jane parted from her friend, retracing her steps back to the orrery to pick up another book and from there to the castle. Finger to her lips, she motioned Fenrir to hush. Loki lounged on one of the library chairs, back to the door. Jane padded away, footsteps almost inaudible. Fenrir followed, watching.

She made him wait outside Loki's room. "Keep watch," she said. _Watch for whom? Master?_ He sat by the door, a sejant guardian, until Mistress exited the room. "Go get Loki," she told him.

Master was not really one to obey orders and it wasn't until Fenrir pushed the image of Jane at him did he catch the master's attention and even then he was in no great rush.

Mistress wasn't there. He couldn't smell her. Fenrir's ears drooped.

Loki opened the door and saw the Asgardian stars and sky.

Paper sketches of the stars covered everything—his chairs, his desk (which had been thoroughly ransacked), his dresser, his walls up to a certain height—everything. No, almost everything. His bed only had one piece of paper, a note. He knew that script.

_Welcome home Loki._


	5. Chapter 5

**And no we get hints of an actual plot down the line (didn't see that one coming). No longer just fun and games y'all. This now means I won't be updating as wickedly fast as I now have to consider plot and devious schemes by characters. Hoo boy. Truly now, you will not see me (update) for at least a week, maybe more!**

**As promised MrsS. [Yes, Yes, I'm studying too.]**

**p.s. I'm grammatically anal. If you see something wrong (grammar or character or plot wise) and tell me, I'll give you a virtual high-five and proceed to try and fix it.**

**Hawkz**

* * *

_What Might Have Been: Chapter V_

Snug and comfortable—that was Jane's room. All the other royals had vast open balconies, grand furniture, rich tapestries decorating stone surfaces, and a plethora of fire pits; just not Jane. Her rooms weren't even meant to house guests let alone a member of the royal family. Frigga only put her there until the servants set up on of the quarters in the royal wing. Oddly enough, once Jane set up shop she didn't want to move. Small enough to be claustrophobic for Fenrir's natural form, the room Jane constructed was a cozy lair thick with rugs, furniture built for leisure versus splendor and a bookcase that rivaled the one in Loki's quarters. Sleek lacquered wood of a ruddy brown made its frame while engravings of runes and symbols danced around its pillars. An artful work of metallic adornment trimmed its edges. It was one of the most precious things Jane considered undoubtedly hers.

Since her second day in Asgard when Thor and Loki showed her the city Jane escaped the castle to make trips of her own. Sometimes Fenrir joined her, sometimes a guard, a very few times that grew in number the older she got, Jane went by herself into town. She loved the sights, the smells, the sounds. Learning Norse was a great trial for her and not one her family was aware she undertook. They had the All-tongue. What need they do to learn another's language to fluency and further more, what need she? Even some commoners could channel such a gift. But not Jane. Not a mortal from Midgard. You were a fool to think her disadvantaged due to it.

Learning Norse was like learning numbers when Jane thought about it. She could read runes; all she had to do was match the rune to the sound, like a multiplication table. Asking strangers lost its fearsome aspect and many she judged to look malicious or Scrooge-like frequently proved to be the most helpful of souls. She met Rurk, who owned one of the finest silk stores in town (his words); Carsi, a dwarf fluent in Norse who hawked metal-based jewelry but not gems (odd for a dwarf); Zib and Glib who did not have an inch of uninked skin between the two of them (her first tattoo was to be drawn by them; they refused to take "scared of needles" as an acceptable refusal); and then there was Master Builder (seemed he didn't really have a name, only a title), a not-so-small giant who sculpted wooden furniture and sculptures with tools too small even by Aesir standards. It was he who fashioned her bookcase. Of course there were more people she met, many of whom names were never given or asked, and many who gave their names and she forgot. Not all relationships were made to last.

Still, Jane came to know much about Asgard's capital and more importantly, the people she now called her own. To Odin and the princes of Asgard the people may pledge their loyalty and sword but it was to little Jane they pledged their hearts. Most thought her an orphan or cast away, a terribly weak Aesir as they never studied her with the care Loki did that one night. Her mortality was not a well-kept secret. Few i recalled seeing her with the princes touring the city seasons upon seasons back and now whenever she did come into the city limits it was either alone or with a small puppy; alas, not all forgot the image of a young Midgardian in the protective embrace of Asgard's two princes. Those same eyes took note of which prince favored her.

There was no Princess of Asgard. Startling to think about considering Odin took her into his house if only under heavy pressure from his wife. Jane was a dependent, a ward of sorts if you will and rumors circulated around the capital of whys and hows she came into being. Heinous tongues wagged of bastard origins, a half mortal child bore due to the king's, or the queen's given which rumor the gossiper favored, in flagrante delicto actions; the more circumspect minds watched and waited before speaking aloud their thoughts. All agreed on one thing: This adoption of a Midgardian mortal into the royal family bordered on heresy. Thereby, the public scorned Odin's female ward, his bastard child, while they fawned over this little weak so-called Aesir who dallied in the city and gave plenty of smiles and love to strangers. The two forces were bound for a collision in the future but as to which side would emerge victorious—love for the little cast away that so clearly loved Asgard and its people or the scorn adopting a mortal into the royal house incurred—no seer can say.

Aside from brown hair and a dwarfish stature the people did not know what she looked like. Some folk were as astute as Loki. They knew who she was, they knew what she was, what she could be, and smiled. Not all of those smiles were friendly, but either through friendliness or for devious purposes of their own, they played along with Jane's incognito agenda.

Dark thoughts and dark souls dwelled in Asgard, waiting for opportunity; Heimdall was not as all seeing as the All-Father liked to assume.

Crackling hisses crunched the wood into smaller pieces, the ash from the fireplace floating to the opened windows. Jane shifted into a tighter ball underneath the blankets. Neither Thor nor Loki had windows, just curtains that opened and closed to the sky. Her balcony was small but Jane didn't need much space for a balcony. All she needed was an open place to look up and see the stars.

Part of her distressed over not waiting for Loki in his room. It howled at her, a child throwing a fit, wanting Loki and his ability to make her feel safe and loved. Volstagg laughed at her once when she said she felt safest with Loki. Loki manipulated; Loki hid in shadows; Loki lied. How could any one feel safe in the arms of a man dedicated to deceit?

If you asked her to explain the sky and the stars, a ready answer would be on her lips. Ask her to explain her feelings about Loki and the girl hesitated, lacking the words for it then. Thousands of images and twists of tongues seized her, none of which she could articulate: Loki banishing the bad dreams; Loki's hand anchoring her from becoming lost; the snowy fur of Fenrir hinting at her peripherals, the wolf standing sentry in his master's stead; fighting over syrup and Loki using dirty tricks to get it; his magic.

She lacked the words then, the ability to summarize. They came to her now.

_He is my brother. I love him._

A brother in every way that mattered, blood ties be damned.

Jane looked up at the sky, searching for answers. Her mind wandered to the ceiling in her room, painted to match the Asgardian skies. It was one of Loki's magic tricks. Whatever the season, he ceiling would match the constellations she had painted when she was nine. The white blob meant to be symbolic of Eir had a footprint in it. She painted it on the castle floor and watched, mesmerized, as her brother lifted the imagery and glued it to her bedroom ceiling. For the next week she had sung his praises to anyone in earshot.

So, why wasn't she with her brother? Jane picked at the shawl's loose fringe. _Because,_ her throat felt tight, _I'm not a kid anymore. Loki has his own life that much is clear. He shouldn't have to "court my every desire". He has other things that make him happy._

Hollowness echoed the thought and ate away a sizable chunk of her peace of mind. Jane curled up deeper into the shawl, fighting tears.

Growing up sucked.

Thoughts of a similar gloomy nature haunted the God of Lies' quarters. Loki had to wonder, did he know his sister at all? What a foolish thought. No one remained unchanged since childhood. People changed. Thor, Thor had changed, not always for the better. Loki still couldn't believe his brother sought him out at the party, verbally admitted to missing him and what they had in their youth. It was, puzzling to say the least.

And what if Jane was no longer the child he recalled? The child was demonstrative and full of smiles and therefore tolerable. This, teenager the child aged into gave made Loki falter. Attention and attachment were the bricks Jane used to build her interconnection with Loki and the Asgardian found he liked the structure it built. Now his little mortal was changing the design of their relationship and Loki wasn't so sure it pleased him any more. Times previous he was the variation; the adaptation, an embodiment of transformation and the role suited him. Being on the receiving end of change was not as fun as being the change. _Chaos_, some people cursed of him behind his back. Not everyone liked adjustments and he found himself strangely sympathetic to their old claims.

_But_, and here Loki had to put his observational skills to the test, to think and think hard, _was the change Jane's fault? Was it age? An inherent Midgardian flaw? Was she distancing herself, leaving him and not even for Thor, but just, him?_ A shuddering chill zinged his spine and lurched in his chest. Closing his eyes he could see events come to pass and those potential events disturbed him. No, Jane was not abandoning him. He did not believe her capable of such callousness. Not his Jane.

Mother had faith in her; why shouldn't he?

_Because you have so much more to lose_, a voice hissed in his ear.

_No_, he hissed back, a sliver of a canine showing.

You can't lose what you don't let go.

Jane woke up confused. Call her crazy but she was pretty sure she did not wiggle her way into Loki's bed, as she was wont to do. Why then was an all too familiar Adam's apple at eye level?

"Your bed is plebian puny."

"Loki? What?" Sleep muddled her words and cottonmouth crinkled her pitch. His new habit of cuddling next to her while they slept was disconcerting. Nice, albeit disconcerting. She remembered her brother tolerating her and her seeking him out. Unless he experimenting with reverse psychology Jane was at a loss for a solution.

"I've decided to keep you."

"You already have a pet."

"And Fenrir needs a companion." Groaning, Jane flopped back on the bed. It was too early for this.

"You already made yourself perfectly clear, Loki. You go on missions for Dad and can't be held accountable to my wants. I get it. I remembered. I won't bug you anymore."

Loki snorted out a frown. "You obviously overstate your Midgardian memory as you most decidedly do not remember yesterday correctly. I promised you I would not leave so easily or without proper correspondence. I gave you my word."

Sepia eyes peeked from behind the crook of her elbow. Her arm slowly lowered. "You…? You were serious?" She wanted to believe him; she wanted to believe him so badly.

Loki's look of offense was authentic. "I do not take Frigga's name lightly, Jane." Dear All-Father, he was serious.

"You won't leave me." Loki's sable locks shook negatively. "Even when I am a brat? Even when I yell at you and call you stupid? Even when I steal your tunics?"

Her brother sighed, more than a little resigned. "You're never going to stop doing that, are you?"

"Not even when I switch out your shampoo bottles with syrup?"

Loki bolted upright. "That was _you_?!"

_Okay, a little bit too much on the honesty, Jane._

"No," she lied.

Narrow green eyes were not convinced. Jane gulped and inched a little closer to the door. Loki only let her get as far as the edge of the bed.

"But you already punished Thor!" Wrongly so but beside the point. Couldn't they play a zero-sum game? _Loki and his stupid hair vanity_, she cursed. He might have been able to magick himself an illusion of cleanliness then but magick couldn't hide all. Jane kicked at his ribs in a desperate fight-or-flight response.

"I make it a point to repay my dues." Wickedness darkened his eyes with a gleam of pleased fiendishness. He was going to enjoy this very much. One of Loki's hands found her wrist and pinned her. Jane squirmed to no avail. He started with her tummy, worked his way down to that spot just behind her knees and then the feet.

"Ahahahaha! Loki! L-Loki! I! Hahaha, ah—Can't, breathe!" When his fingers danced along her ribs akin to playing a harp, Jane squealed for mercy in between fits of giggles.

Loki bore a shark grin by the end of it. "What are the magic words?" Once more, Jane tried to kick him in the ribs. She hated the magic words. A firm grip on her ankle and the threatening loom of his hand lodged a gulp of trepidation in her throat. It came curiously close to the back of her neck and hung there like a scythe.

"Master of Mischief and Lies, please be merciful." The shark grin grew into all teeth. He patted her on the head.

"There's a good little minion." He zinged her with a peck of magic for good measure. Older siblings must assert their authority every now and then least the little ones get complacent.

Panting on the bed, Jane stewed. _Note to self:_ _Next time, don't tell your target how, what, or why you did it. Just gloat internally and be content._

* * *

He had to be content that Jane's world grew beyond him. She woke early, almost as early as he, ate simply, sometimes on the go, drifted down to the orrery to study the stars and found inspiration outside the castle. Outside of him. He made his peace with this and found it liberating in small ways. Being able to court women without the fear Jane would crawl into his bed at the most awkward of moments was a satisfying side effect. (Yes, it happened; NO, he did not want to relive that memory. EVER. Suffice to say he mastered no-entry no-exit shields very quickly after that.)

Thor proved to be a great distraction and not in the way he customarily was. Thor was, not wiser, but certainly more discerning. His hand on Mjolnir a little slower and his words a trace more judicious than Loki recalled. Thor spent less time with his warrior friends and more with his brother. In the beginning, Loki rebuffed him, a shell of snide remarks and disdainful scowls protecting his very tender heart so easily crushed by those closest to him. Thor was gentle. Thor was kind. This Thor was the brother who shared his adolescent adventures.

The rift between brothers bridged just a smidge closer together; the envy and spite diluted by another few drops of kindness. It would take time, but they were Aesir. They had all the time in the world.

Garikith, ugh, Garikith he did not hold in any high esteem. Or low esteem. Maybe Helheim-levels of esteem but certainly never anything as high as low esteem. Not to mention there was the Alfheim's prince's gift to his sister.

An Alfheim buck.

Loki suddenly had a craving for venison. The only reason he did not butcher that stag (aside from the fact it wasn't his to butcher) was that Jane looked at the beast with such wonder and joy and he would not be the one to take that from her. It helped his consent to let the elk live when the Alfheim prince returned to his realm shortly after and Jane, an amateur in riding, looked to him for lessons.

Loki watched as Jane put on a cloth saddle and reigns on the buck in the Alfheim manner and couldn't deny the creature's handsome appeal.

The elk chomped at his shoulder for getting too close to its rider.

…But that didn't mean he wouldn't gut this beast for insulting his royal personage!

Loki shucked the drool off his cape, mouth curled in disdain. _Gross, insipid creature._ Venison sounded appetizing once more. Loki muttered curses against elk and its pointy-eared brethren of the Alfheim realm.

Jane hitched herself onto the saddle and promptly fell off the other side. She tried again. And again. And one more time.

Hmm.

Loki just may have to start with the basic basics. Just because his sister wanted to ride this creature did not mean she could. Teaching required patience unless your instructor was Loki. Slumped posture betrayed her nervousness and Loki sparked her with a bit of magic to straighten her out. "Never show fear Jane. Animals and strangers do not respond well to it. Always be in command."

Seven lessons into it Jane let her hubris shine. Nothing a little magic couldn't fix. Jane glared at him through a mud mask. "Don't act like the better rider until you are the better rider."

Her brother had a quip of advice for seemingly everything she did, and as much as it irritated her in the instant, Jane nodded and listened for Loki was the teacher, Jane the student. Loki returned Jane a smirk of a smile when she proved adept at riding her buck through the courtyard. There was something to be said over life's simple pleasures where the God of Lies delights in playing the role of big brother.

This day they started earlier than usual, the courtyard subdued with a sleepy atmosphere. "Bring Kvasir over here." Jane rolled her eyes at her brother's nickname for her elk.

"It's not Kvasir. It's Kraki. His name suits him; he looks like a king." Kraki craned his neck a little higher, intelligence in those black eyes. Loki disagreed, wiping at the saliva on his breeches.

"He drools as it suffering from a constant stroke."

Kraki curled his lip at the black haired Aesir. A crackling attention sparked between their eyes and both refused to be the first to look away. Jane gave up on the two of them, internally throwing her hands up.

_Men._

She wouldn't let their rodomontade inclinations get in the way of this beautiful day. Tightening the clasps around Kraki's middle, securing the sacks on Kraki's back and lacing up her boots gave them more than enough time to sort out this competition of throwing around testosterone and glares. Jane crossed her arms and gave Loki a look complete with a tapping foot and pout.

"You promised."

"Fine, fine," he conceded, pointedly ignoring the haughty look of victory lighting up the elk's face as he broke eye contact.

Fenrir danced on his toes as if the blades of grass shot energizing, electrifying sparks all through his larger form. Master rarely took him out for a run in the hills, not in the last century or two and Fenrir planned to run until his lungs burned and feet bruised. His heart would howl at the wind in his face and the pull of pushing limits. Fenrir let out a low, long whine when Loki took his time to lace up his own boots. His subsequent wag of the tale softened the master's green gaze.

Asgard's streets were as slumberous as the courtyard, but the baker's guild flooded the air with butter-sweet aromas. Fenrir kept walking but Jane stopped by quick enough to snag a breakfast of flakey delights. Crumbs and a smear of jam on her face, she offered one to Loki. Not even the God of Lies and Mischief and vainglory prince of Asgard could say no to fresh jam-smeared croissants. Plus he could magick himself clean or the very least create the illusion of cleanliness. Meanwhile his sister was more than content to use her thumb and tongue to scrub her face.

Step by step the streets got a little wider, the houses a little more distanced from each other. Weeds peeked through the stone road and spry trees dotted the beginning of Asgard's mountains and valleys. Fenrir trembled at the thought of running, truly running, all through that wild expanse of land. Loki eased him to a stop. "This won't be like the courtyard Jane. The ground is rough and uneven here so the elk may not be used to galloping over such land. It is best to use caution and—"

"Catch me if you can!" The elk bolted as exited as its rider to lose itself in the rolling hills.

"Jane! Jane get back here I know your mortal hearing is not that bad!" Loki's heels dug into Fenrir and the wolf loped after them. His bolt of fear faded into worry, which melted into content, which snowballed into a sense of unchecked exhilaration. The wind, the rush, the feel of the outdoors, Loki experienced it through Fenrir and all but howled with his wolf when the canine tipped back his head and sang. Distantly a wolf packed echoed back.

Jane halted at the forested edge of the mountain, breathing as hard as her elk. Her legs were all jelly but adrenaline coursed through the very fiber of her being, sparking every hair follicle and a broad smile greeted Loki. "That was incredible! It was, I mean," her legs finally gave out, more that a little saddle sore despite all her lessons. The smile stayed in place. "We have to do that again." Loki stepped down from his panting wolf with a little more grace. His image was as impeccable as ever though he gave Jane a smirk of his own. He offered her water from the elk's sack—nimbly avoiding the crunch of cervine teeth—and joined his sister in the shade.

Jane looked beyond him. "What river is that?" It flowed down the mountain at a slithering snake pace and fingers verified it run off from the snow. It tasted sweet.

"It's the river Höll and it runs under one of the larger textile guilds. They use it to dye their cloth so it changes color every other day or so. When they use the red dyes of Niflheim, which are an intense crimson, it looks as if a rain of fire falls from Asgard. Gunnthráin gets hit by the two suns at each sunset giving it a molten gold appeal and the river Thyn curls under the castle to heat the baths, though our ancestors may have cheated a little to gain that affect." Even without looking Loki knew he had Jane's attention. His stories and anecdotes of history held her as spellbound as any magical ensnarement. His fingers pirouetted and gesticulated, clapping to provide an unnaturally loud boom and paint fizzling pictures via magic in the air on occasion.

Somewhere off in the mountains Fenrir was enjoying freedom and running with the wolf packs that inhabited these mountains; Kraki rested under a different tree, alert just enough to come at his rider's request. As far as the siblings were concerned it was just the two of them and that made everything right in the world.

Over the last century, maybe two, Loki hadn't set foot in Asgard's backyard but the way he pointed out trees and animal dens and unstable rock formations told of memories never forgotten. He and Thor and Odin used to come out here to hunt when the brother's were boys and Loki knew every inch of these mountains, meadows, and valleys even if he hadn't hunted since.

"Will you tell me more Nine realm origin stories?" Jane's face suggested a half-dozing mind but her half-lidded eyes fixed hopefully on his person.

"I just gave you a book on our 'mythology', as you so put it once." Perhaps his tone hinted at just a little resentment. Handsomely bound of light brown leather and magically seared with more than a few hidden spells it was as fine a piece as ever to come off a printing press, Loki's gift to Jane. Then she saw Garikith's gift and his mother tired to mollify him with words like "every girl wants a pony". He could have given her a pony if she asked! But no, since the first year of her arrival she once asked for books and for every year hence he has given her a book. Beautiful books. Rare books. Magical books.

"I know. I read all of it the first night you gave it to me." Because she closed her eyes, fighting off fatigue possibly, she didn't see Loki twitch a turn of a degree to look at her and stare with honest eyes. "I read all of it the first night and then I reread it every afternoon for the next week. I just like hearing you tell the myths better." Shifting closer to her brother, Jane cuddled next to her brother and rested her head on his thigh, a sigh of content working its way past her lips. Loki raised his hand, pulled it back, unclenched the fingers and then after a moment's stillness let his fingers comb his sister's brown locks. She hummed a little pleased noise.

"At the beginning,

Before the dawn of time

Before the realms as we know it

There was darkness…"

His voice lulled, never quite rising in anything above a loud whisper, soothing and sweet. Jane drifted to the feel of his thin fingers at her scalp, and when her eyes closed his words painted pictures in the darkness, creating color and sound, taste and smell. At the base of the Asgardian Mountains with the skies hued burnt oranges and blood reds and splashed with clouds, Loki talked the world into being.

* * *

"What I cannot understand is why he keeps her around?"

"The mortal?"

"To whom else does he pander? Certainly none of us." The Warriors Three and Lady Sif dawdled in one of the lounges, waiting for Thor to finish speaking with the All-Father. Inexplicably, the topic drifted from one brother to the other. The shadow-user rarely captured their attention but that mortal acted as a mini-vortex, drawing people in perplexing ways. What once they cast aside the warriors now gazed upon with reconsidered consideration. Had they missed something?

Volstagg swallowed the last bit of goose and moved on to carve another. "So he keeps company with his sister over us. Why should we complain?"

"Oh she can be pleasant at times but what does she really offer to anyone, let alone one as…particular as Loki?" Fandral asked.

"Thor likes her," Sif supplied.

"Thor likes everyone," the swordsmen replied. "And by everyone I included his darker half for whom we've been set aside for as of recent."

Hogun said nothing, looking alternatively at the fire and the people around it. Volstagg sucked hard on one of the bones. "She's kind of like a puppy," he decided. "Remember when she followed Thor to the bordello?"

Sif chuckled. "His own fault for saying he was in the mood for something sweet that night. Jane thought he was going to a sweet shop."

"Oh he was, just not the kind she thought," Fandral said.

Lady Sif sighed and leaned back in the open chair. "I just don't understand this sudden fascination with Loki in the past few seasons. It came out of nowhere." Had Loki been there he could have read the jealousy in her posture.

"It's not that new. They were very close, Thor and Loki, when they were young. Maybe it's a cyclical thing?" Fandral suggested.

Sif was blunt. "I don't trust the God of Lies."

"Oh, get over it Sif. It happened centuries ago and you still look beautiful as a brunette." Fandral had to dodge a chalice tossed his way.

"You think we should talk to Thor? Make sure this isn't another one of Loki's schemes? They don't usually last this long, though." By the knitted brow on Volstagg's forehead, the large man doubted the rightness of his idea.

Hogun broke his silence. "They are brothers. An untroubled royal house stands firmer in times of unease." He counseled. "We may not all like Loki," Sif looked away from his meaningful stare, "but Loki has never been treasonous to the house of Odin. Brothers fight. Royal princes fight and the realms shake. Introduce a Midgardian child and we have fewer tables being turned over by Thor and fewer dark looks Loki sends his brother when he thinks no one sees. She is balance to Loki's chaos. We are Thor's comrades. Loki may not be of our group but he is of Asgard and where Jane balances Loki, Loki balances Thor. Our friend is, was, aggressive, prone to action. Loki holds a silver tongue and uses words to navigate a bloodless path. We are warriors but a kingdom is not strong if built on nothing but blood. We and Thor need Loki."

Not a sound outside the fire's sputter echoes in the chamber. None of them had ever heard Hogun speak for so long or so wisely.

"Do you accuse us of doing wrong?" Volstagg wasn't sure what to take away from that speech.

"I accuse all of us of this: We are looking at the world with one eye. It is time to mature past our comfort zones and admit we must change. For the better." Back straight, eyes solid, Hogun spoke with the wisdom of a scholar and the steel of a warrior. Volstagg put down the goose leg.

"Then, this Jane-Loki thing is a good thing and we must support it wherever it goes?" he ventured.

Fandral imbibed a large draught of mead. "Dammit! I always knew she'd butterfly into a real beauty six seasons down the line." All his friends pivot to look at him. "Hey, like we didn't know where this was going. And these are royals. They've got a thing for family."


	6. Chapter 6

**Can't say I liked this one (probably due to all the family drama) but I was a little more than fond of the ending. Alas, necessary to move the plot along. I'm also not sure why I bother saying I won't update for a while and then do so anyway. Hmm. Computer crashed and died and had to get a new one. (Almost lost ALL my documents and tried to virtually strangle Microsoft so writing this was just a way to soothe nerves more than anything). Please let me know if you think I screwed up this ****chapter too much. **

**Also, since I can't reply personally: Stephanie, thank you for your reviews; it gave me more than a little inspiration. I appreciate all the reviews, y'all.**

**Hawkz**

* * *

_What Might Have Been: Chapter VI_

Complexity always intrigued Jane. Curiosity coursed through her being as fundamental to her survival as blood. Curiosity, which led to exploring complexities which led to Jane getting a study of her own in the castle which led to explosions. Again. The smoke in her lungs forced a racking series of coughs to rattle her frame but the goggles helped keep the acrid fumes from burning her eyes.

Frigga had been furious when she thought Jane had blinded herself (first time, first explosion; innovation and goggles came after that). Mother wrung her hands over her daughter engaging in volatile "science" (another Midgardian term Jane preferred to use over her Asgardian tongue) but Jane had the same inquisitive intellect that drove Loki to the library and the worlds beyond. Jane sought solutions and her son sought answers; so very similar her two children. Softhearted the Queen may be but under no circumstances would her brood go without learning the fundamental gentry virtues. Jane had to make quite the bargain to get her little science lab.

Thus, at precisely a quarter to noon a sharp rumbling of knuckles echoed in her small study. The droning tenor of her mother's messenger informed her that Frigga, the Queen, expected her to be at her music teacher's quarter's by midday. Jane groaned a reply. She loathed visit to her music teacher. Soot and the burnt out sparks of embers decorated her apron's front and face; Mother would have an apoplectic fit if she went to her teacher's studies with such an appearance. Good thing it didn't matter. Snatching up her cloak hanging in the closet, Jane walked down the hall with poise gained from years of lectures and pursed lips from her mother. As soon as she turned a corner and found herself relatively alone, Jane pulled up the hood and scurried a roundabout detour to her own chambers. Beneath her small bed's fame—she was not going to get another large piece of furniture if Loki was just going to magic it into flames again—lay her prize.

Unhooking the two clasps, sepia-colored eyes warmed at the sight of polished wood and horse hair. Her fingers brushed it reverently for a spell, musical memories gamboling about her ears. The doors creaked open, which caused Jane to flinch, thinking she had been caught at last, but only Fenrir stood in the door's threshold. Her clock read almost noon. Taking parchment and pen, Jane scribbled a hasty note and sealed it with hot wax. Fenrir opened his jaws, delicately holding the papyrus between his teeth.

"You know where to find me afterwards." With that he bobbed a goodbye and practice found Jane safe, secret passage from the castle to her destination:

The tavern of Dyfflin.

She let her hood fall upon entering, her own ear-to-ear smile outmatched by the eye-crinkling grin that worked its way along Ivar's jaw. "Well bind my britches, look it who it is!" His thick arms twirled her up in a hug where more than one patron had to duck and dodge Ivar's show of affection. He took her cloak like a gentleman, a questioning eyebrow quirked at the sooty apron though the twinkle in his eye flashed knowingly, and shooed her over to the other two of their quartet. Ziggy's bass plucked along base notes, yet were not quite something to tap to as if his fingers played only part of the notes his mind's eye read. Lorcun's cap shielded his eyes from the dim tavern lights as he leaned heavily against Ziggy's shoulder that did not bear the neck of his instrument.

"You're late," he said. Aside from the cap over his eyes and posture Lorcun could very well have been asleep. Jane felt a blush unfurl along her cheeks.

"I got a little sidetracked, okay?"

"Fine, but you're still late so I get to pick the first two songs."

Ivar shuffled over, his own stringed instrument fitting comically in his overly hairy hands and arms. "Peace nice you two. Now, Master Lorcun, if you'd be so kind as to pick our first ditty?" Ever the leader, Ivar assumed an easy air of command, the other three dusting themselves and their instruments off to begin to play. A couple notes of tuning hummed in the air overshadowed by the talk and laughter that rolled around in the tavern. Same as always, butterflies of nervousness and excitement battled in her stomach. Jane took out her fiddle and assumed a nonchalant albeit ready pose. Lorcun's lazy fingers found his own instrument, the bow tapping against the strings as he considered his choices.

"Ramstock III's Dance Across the Sea." Jane grinned. While no foot-stomper, it certainly had a sway worth dancing to. A flutter of trills worked the fiddles, hers and Ivar's, with the cello and bass joining not even three notes later. Delightful jumps and slides of notes swelled into all the empty spaces of the bar, a couple patrons smiling a little wider or tapping their foot to the beat. Some of the music trickled outside, piece after a piece played with a few intermissions to flex fingers and swill free drinks from the barkeep, until the musicians cavorted as much as they drank. They lost their bass to the pretty little eyes of an Aesir and laughed when a bold youth courted Jane into a dance. Ivar's grin offered encouragement and when that didn't work, deftly plucking her instrument out of the mortal's hand and shoving her off on the boy. Jane glared at the hairy Aesir but his booming laugh brushed it off. On and on they played, courting passersby into the tavern with musical merriment.

Jane sat with no amount of grace, sweaty and smiling as her bandmates put their instruments away, the fading sunlight calling for rest. No one paid them for their musical performance aside from some compliments given and a few drinks from the barkeep. Water for Jane and a syrupy sweet bourbon for the men. Over the tavern's din, the foursome engaged in their own light chatter. Lorcun's wife expecting their third child and he being run down by all the bizarre cravings (fried fish heads and candied nut stir fried rice; he didn't even know that was a thing). Ziggy studying to pass his entrance exam into the engineering guild while his brother's stint at the smithy's shop might become permanent. Ivar wandering the realms, writing poetry and song and living a pleasantly bohemian existence. Jane skirted specifics, broadly complaining about her brothers and marveling over the sky and stars.

Loosened up from all the music Ziggy persuaded Jane to sip a watered down version of the bourbon, laughing at how flushed her face became after half a tumbler. The exertion of playing for hours and the alcohol diluting her blood sent even more blood rushing to her face, causing her vision to swim. Lorcun's lanky figure steadier her, a haze of drunkenness mushing his words of caution into a nigh intelligible stream. Ivar, who lived more off Alfheim wine than water, whistled a shrill pitch loud enough to gain the attention of her escort outside. Fenrir nosed his way in, saw his mistress's inebriated state and heaved his haunches in what could be called a canine sigh. Lorcun handled Jane's fiddle with equal care, throwing the strap around her shoulders and Ivar walking her through the bar until the outside pinched at her cheeks. Light snow dusted the ground, making walking far more precarious that had a sheen of ice varnished the streets. If there was ice at least you knew to be cautious; the scatter of semi-melted snow hid pockets of slipperiness and it was Ivar's form grip that gave Jane balance. The other two waved goodbyes, Ziggy looking none too repentant over the thinned bourbon. They all looked forward to seeing her next week, same time, same place. Fenrir's larger form lurched his haunches, making sure his little mistress was safe at the nape of his neck prior to walking towards the castle.

His pace was ponderously slow as he avoided the foot traffic that cluttered the streets so close to evening. Jane tweaked his ear, mumbling incoherencies. He kept moving, Jane still tweaking his ear and he ignoring her, so he spooked when he felt her sliding off. His muzzle caught her from stumbling to the cobblestones and he eased her down.

"Said stop, Fenrir." Though slurred, her words bespoke of a tipsy mind fighting for more lucid thoughts. "I," she shook her head and tried again. "I need to go to the shop around here. I need to pick something up." Fenrir did not want to stop; he'd prefer her safe in the castle until sober. One of his paws tried pushing her back onto his spine but drunk or not, Jane wove her way around him and down the streets. The wolf grumbled, assuming a smaller form. Not his playful puppy one that he used to sneak into Jane's bed with but the wolf-like form that he preferred to use only in springtime up in the mountains. At least this size he could maneuver in the crowd more easily while retaining some aspect of obvious muscle. Puppies were cute but not something to be feared. Fenrir followed at her heels, green eyes glowing in the dark and observing all who came too close, a growl sending them farther away.

A chime above the door alerting the shopkeeper of his customer's entrance. Knick-knacks littered every surface, hung from ceiling and dripped over tables and chairs. Some things whispered of magic, dark and other, and some of origins from another realm. A few dim lanterns gave the show an eerie glow. The shopkeeper's smile was as oily as his hair.

"Welcome, welcome back, my fair lady. I have as you asked. Come, come this way." Fenrir stood in front of his mistress, refusing to move. Although silent, the fur on his back rose hair by hair until he was a bristly warning. Jane tried to move but Fenrir put his paw down; she would not go with this Aesir. The shopkeeper's smile grew. "I'll be just a moment dear." He disappeared into the unlit corridor, backstopping until his face vanished and then re-emerged holding a silk wrapped box.

"For such an primitive society, Midgard has quite the fascinating trinkets. I found this a number of ages back, back when Midgard accepted a more simple truth. I've kept it in good condition, same as when you first examined it." He took a step back, extending his hand as an offer for Jane to come see it herself. The canine's narrowed green eyes did not leave the man's smiling form. Jane unwrapped the silk covering to reveal a ligneous square of considerable weight and two boxes of stones, one all black and the other all white.

Beautiful, Jane thought, and it was in a simple, aesthetic way. Her fingers traced yet not quite touching the lines, nineteen by nineteen, and and frowned over the thirteenth line. Magic.

"There's spell on this."

The shopkeeper tilted his head just so. "No, no, no spells on our Midgardian wares. It is completely harmless."

Jane shook her head, the cloud of alcohol not so strong as it was before. "I will not take it so long as it's magicked." Loki and Frigga often performed magic, especially the former and this magic was not like her family's spells. It was rough and jagged like a bush of thorns biting into the outstretched hand that came too close. Jane was too focused on the board game to see how the skopkeeper's smile no longer made it to his eyes. Fenrir leaned a little closer to his charge.

"Let me take a look," the owner suggested. He made a great show of examining it, his fingers and palm jerking in a quick succession of halting angles. He stood back from the box again. "Better?"

"I'll still need to take it to a magician's shop to examine it more closely, but I guess it'll have to do." One of the shopkeeper's cheeks pinched, that same look coming into his eyes; none of which registered to Jane. He lowered himself into a bow.

"Of course, dear customer. Shall I deliver it for you?"

"No, I'll take it now and drop it off. Thank you." Fenrir watched him retreat, the fur along his back still standing. His weariness didn't settle until they left the shop and dropped off the package at a shop whose sign read "Wizard Yogul: Maker of Magics".

Fenrir was glad when they made it back to the castle; Jane was not.

Frigga greeted her at the nearest hallway to the gate, lips pursed in choler and her music teacher slouched behind her with a sallow, guilty expression. Not good.

"We had a deal. Instead of finding you practicing your harp, as you should," Jane had to wince at those words, "I find your teacher getting to know one of the servants a little too well." Jane had to laugh; like mother, like daughter. The twitch of a smile did not moderate her mother's demeanor. "This is no laughing matter, Jane! I trusted your word and you broke it."

"Mother, I didn't want to learn the harp. I never did. I wanted—" She wanted to learn the stringed instrument she always heard in the tavern. The one only commoners played. The one she stumbled upon in a curiosity shop and fell in love with and sought out a teacher, Ivar, all on her own. Jane gulped but finished her thought. "I want to play the fiddle."

"And you never thought to talk to me about this?"

"I tried! You said no!"

"For a reason. You are not a commoner, Jane. You are of the Asgard royal family."

Jane's growing ire worked her tongue faster than her brain. "I'm adopted! I never was a part of the Asgardian royal family." The frosty silence told her just how much she overstepped. Jane's posture retreated a step as her shoulders hunched in protectively. Agitation and vexation worked more belligerent words from her despite her brain telling her apologies served better. "You don't even let me visit Loki at night any more. You can't dictate all of my life. I'm not a child." Frigga stepped closer to her daughter, and suddenly Jane felt very much the truculent tyke.

"Children, Jane, know it's wrong to lie but do so anyway. When children learn to stop lying, then they become adults worthy of controlling their own lives."

"Loki lies all the time." Frigga fought a smile at the truth in Jane's petulant tone.

"You, Jane, are not Loki. Seventeen in Midgardian years doesn't count as an adult either and certainly not in Asgardian standards, a place you call home. I am very disappointed in you, Jane, and," she paused, leaned in some and recoiled in shock. "Have you been drinking?"

Guilt struck her too plain to see. Jane was never a very good liar. "I was with some friends. I had mostly water. It was just a taste." By the look her mother gave her, she did not agree.

"You are confined to the castle for one month. No, do not argue lest you want it to increase." Jane bit on her lip, an irascible furrow narrowing her eyes. "Do not sneak out again or I'll post guards to babysit you." Jane scowled and stalked off. "And don't slouch! I taught you better than that."

Neither Thor nor Loki came across her on her stomp back to her rooms and for that Jane was grateful. What would they say to her, learning she was grounded for sneaking out of the castle to enjoy a commoner's pastime? No, she didn't care; she loved playing the fiddle. She loved looking at the stars and visiting the orrery. She loved visiting Loki at night until her mother put a stop to it, saying it wasn't proper anymore. It hadn't been for the past two years. Jane buried her face in one of her pillows.

It wasn't fair.

For years her mother let her do what she wanted. And then, out of nowhere, two years ago actually, her mother demanded she act more of a royal, more of the princess that she wasn't. She knew she wasn't. When the master of ceremonies introduces her, her title is daughter of Odin and Frigga, not Princess of Asgard. Loki and Thor get introduced as Princes of Asgard; she was just, family, if that even made sense. Which it didn't, not for a long time until she just shrugged it off. She didn't need to be a princess. Not being a princess meant she could visit the orrery even when diplomats visited whereas her brothers had to listen to the gripes and pontifications of old, old men and not so young women. Jane could deal with not being a princess very well, thank you.

So, why the change? She wished she knew.

Jane sighed and rolled over on her back, looking up at her ceiling painted to match the winter sky outside. This was going to be a long, long month.

None of the servants dared entered and the guards posted outside stepped a little further from the doors. To hear the Queen raise her voice was a rare occurrence and never a good one to be on the receiving end of. That this adopted mortal stood there, taking each blow and returning many of her own was both gusty and foolish. Neither prince planned to remain at the castle that day but chance has a way of tweaking one's plans. Loki frowned at the raised voices coming in through the heavy wood doors, an obvious question on his lips when something smashed against a wall in the room making everyone present jump.

"You should never have taken me from Midgard. You should have left me there!"

That was most certainly Jane's voice. Frigga's reply was no less kind but the tremor in her voice signified deep sadness at her daughter's words. Loki took a step back. This was not a situation to intrude upon. From corner of his eye Thor stood disconcertingly straight, his face solemn and sad. He opened the doors and entered. So consumed by their fight neither noticed him until he placed a hand on Jane's shoulder, her jumping at the familiar warmth.

"That's enough," he spoke softly. His bright blue eyes took in her puffy eyes, the stream of tears still falling and the sadness twisting her face into a frown. "That's enough. You will apologize to mother, mine and yours, once you've calmed down. And Mother will apologize to you," his eyes flickered, just for a blink, to where Frigga stood, holding herself well but afflicted by the same pain and hurt and sorrow that gripped her adopted child. "But first I think both of you need some air." His voice never quite rose above a gentle lull, certainly not to his usual booming bass. He tried to lead Jane out, and when an emotional meld of stubbornness and hostility pushed against him, he picked her up easy as a teddy bear. She flinched and stilled in his hold but gave no verbal retort. Loki watched them leave, looking back to his mother and chose to stay. He waved away the servants, even the guards and entered his mother's chambers, the doors closing behind him due to magic. Thor would heal their sister, he would soothe their mother.

He found one of the more secluded balconies with all of them coated in a heavy layer of snow so he bound Jane up in his flamboyantly red cape. She wrapped it around herself and wasted no time in burying her face in it. She never did like crying in front of family. Thor murmured soothing nothings, not real words but just the sound of his voice had a tranquil effect.

He encouraged his little mortal sister to speak by holding out goblet of hot cider, extra cinnamon, a little something he had a servant bring over quick as a whistle. Red eyes, red nose and red-faced, his sister looked up from the cape, eyeing him, then the cider, lips pursed out in thought until a tentative hand took his proffered gift. The quiet continued, Thor saying nothing. Jane looked at the goblet when she talked.

"It's not fair. I don't want to learn the harp. I don't care that court ladies are supposed to know how to play. Mom's never cared before. She always let me run down to the orrery at first light and stay there for days, avoiding diplomats and ambassadors. That was something you and Loki took care of. And I love playing the fiddle." Thor's eyebrows rose and bite his tongue to tamp down any questions. While his sister playing a commoner's instrument did not really surprise him the fact that she liked playing a musical device did. He and Loki never quite cared for learning them. Jane scowled as the memories came back.

"But, then Mom says all these things. I wasn't allowed to visit Loki at night anymore. He's my brother! Who else to I run to when I have nightmares. Or am lonely. Or sad. I go to you, too. 'S not fair. What did I do wrong?" Now she did look at him, doleful sepia-shaded eyes searching for answers. Thor wiped her nose with the edge of his cape. As if speaking to a child, and in so many ways he was, Thor kept his timbre low and warm.

"You did what everyone does—you grew up. You can't lean on Loki and I indefinitely, little one. We'll always help you with nightmares," he couldn't help the nostalgic smile there, "but we are not panaceas. Sometimes you have to face challenges all on your own. Mother is just trying to prepare you for that. It's how she shows her love. Ignoring something, like by hiding yourself in the planetarium, won't change the fact that you are of our family, the ruling family, of Asgard. You being mortal won't change that. Mother will forgive the harp bit, however, I think we can agree that lying to Mother is wrong. I know, I know," he soothed. "You are going to lie. Eventually. About lots of things. Like boys and what circumstances broke Mother's pottery," Jane felt more than a twinge of guilt about that pot now, but something in Thor's smile says he and Loki were no different. "You can lie about those things. But don't lie to make Mother worry. Let her mollycoddle you just a few more years, hmm? You grow up so fast as it is." Thor let his forehead touch hers and Jane let a few more tears fall, her throat thick.

"Okay." Thor smiled at her, warm and sunny like always, and used the other end of his cape to wipe away more mucus and tears. "Thor?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry."

"I think Mother would be very happy to hear those words, yes?" Jane nodded. Thor kept a lethargic pace as he walked her back to their mother's chambers, the edges of his cape wet from more than just snow. Jane hugged him outside Frigga's quarters.

"I love you."

"I wouldn't hurt to tell Mother that, too. Might even heal some bridges." He nudged her through the doors and beckoned his brother to give them some privacy. Loki's eyes were contemplative.

"I never would have pegged for the wise older brother type." Thor grinned back at him.

"Funny how we change for the people we love, hmm?" Loki hummed back, eyes going back to the door and the subdued conversation taking place behind them. He turned to face his brother again. With any luck, those two would talk for a while; they had much to sort out.

"I feel like a drink, Thor. Care to join me?"

"I think you a wise and most generous brother."

The tavern Dyfflin wasn't too crowded that night and it felt wonderful to get outside the castle. Just Thor and Loki, no Sif or Warriors Three tonight. It was oddly peaceful between the two brothers, no real words exchanged but a few communicative glances and body gestures given here and there. A stringed ditty repeated in the back ground, picking up the lull in any conversation so that it was never really quiet. One of the patrons had something to say about the lack of any real jig-worthy music. One of the musicians shrugged.

"We just lost one of our fiddles. Man that girl could play, too. She just stopped comin'. Sorry to see her go; we thought she liked playing with us. Ivar's been pouting since she left an' ain't really in the mood for swing." True to form, the hairy Aesir sat long-faced and glaring at his cups, no instrument in sight. Ziggy shrugged his condolences. "Maybe next time, Chief."

Loki and Thor shared a glance. Really?

"Gentlemen," Loki addressed them to get their attention. "I think I know where your missing violinist is."

Convincing Jane to come down was elementary; their mother was a bit more recalcitrant to visiting a tavern this late at night. Let is be said that few things resist Loki's silver-tongue and magic tricks. Much to her chagrin, the Queen found herself in a tavern, served questionable quality mead and surrounded by what was clearly a boisterous, crapulent crowd. It was a very large comfort that she was incognito and buffered by her sons' presences.

Jane came into the bar to the cheers of her bandmates, Ivar spinning her around enough so that the both of them felt sick for a moment or two afterwards. He wasted no time stumbling over to his instrument's case, fumbling with a hasty tune and declaring tonight worthy of revelry and music most mirthful. What played next was a tune right out of the festival of Freyr. Everyone was clapping, foot-stomping, trading partners and swinging to a joyous beat and lyrics that had even the Queen blushing. Thor jumped right in, finding a partner as soon as he held out a hand. The beat rolled on, encouraging more to join in and laugh, laugh over everything good.

Loki stayed near his mother; this was not his scene.

But then, Jane was in his face, more than a little out of breath and beaming. She found his hand and with but a look tossed to his mother found himself on the dance floor. Frigga let out quite the laugh at such a sight, clapping her own hands in time to the ludic beat. Royals did not participate in tavern carouses, but…her eyes drifted to her children. Thor laughing and switching partners, Loki scowling and magicking any who dare try and take his. Royals did not participate in tavern carouses, but perhaps it was time for a little more change to come to Asgard's royal family.


	7. Chapter 7

**Because I read something depressing and now I want hugs and puppies and chocolate, dammit. Two out of three ****achieved. I defend my actions by moving along the plot. **

**Edited and fixed. Sorry bout that folks, and thanks again Stephanie.**

**Hawkz**

* * *

_What might Have Been: Chapter VII_

Yogul yawned and stretched with feline relish, working out all his joints in a symphony of cricks and kinks. His wife snored on, hogging the covers. Gap toothed, he smiled wide and pecked her on the temple; how much he loved her. Dressed in his robes and washed for the day, Wizard Yogul shambled down the steps to his shop below. He inspected the package with a frown. The note attached was nearly illegible but he recognized the name at the bottom.

Odd.

Not the note, little royal-related Jane had a scrawling style of writing when rushed, but the box. Yogul's posture leaned into a defensive, suspicious hunch. Midgardian objects—it was certainly nothing of this realm—would not, should not, have magical residue, let alone magic reminiscent of darkness. _Does she know? _Yogul doubted that._ But then_, he looked down at the note. No, she suspected something, maybe felt a tremor of danger even if she couldn't place what it was. Logical theory dictated that all her time spent with the trickster and Queen inherently developed a supernatural sixth sense for magical sensitivity. Or she was just lucky.

Taking out his spectacles, Wizard Yogul scrutinized the square more carefully. He may be not as spry as he was since the last millennia but his magical senses worked as fine as a well-oiled machine and he could still trounce thaumaturges younger and more physically capable than he; thus, his eyes did not miss the time-delay spell. Little royal Jane was very lucky indeed then. The time delay masked its presence like a blanket but Yogul could see it slithering underneath. Most likely Jane did not have to worry about being on the receiving end of a bad spell. Yogul did not wait for the spell to finish, rather he stood soldier straight and one of his withered hands fisted in an edge of the magic and yanked off its disguise, showing its ugliness for all magician eyes to see.

Yogul was old. His eyes had seen many things, both beautiful and horrific, and his scars did not all have proud tales behind them. Little Jane was one of the more beautiful, the more innocent creatures with which he had the pleasure of acquainting himself. The dark cloud of magic within the box told him not all shared his positive view of the mortal. Yogul narrowed his eyes at the square block of timber. He had not seen such dark magic in ages. Mumbling a chant, his hand glowed and it reached out to touch the board game. A poisonous bang shot out, searing a long, bloody slice from the base of his thumb to his pinky and Yogul cried out, holding his palm to his chest. Sucking in breathes in a controlled manner, Yogul let loose a low moan. The dark magic hissed at him, warning him not to come closer.

Yogul got to his feet, grim-faced and determined; dark magic does not cow this wizard.

Magic thrummed along his veins, pumped throughout his body in time with his heart beat. Gathering a much stronger amount of magic this time, Yogul lept at the box, slamming his uninjured palm onto the game's surface and growled back at the dark magic. It coiled around the game like a venomous snake as Yogul's limbs shook tried to tear it from its prize. Even with preternatural enhancements, Yogul's entire body convulsed, straining to power-bully the other magic into submission. The magic snarled and lashed out, slicing skin dangerously close to the old Aesir's eye and shearing his robes to ribbons. Sparks flew and magic from both sides lashed out, cracking along walls and smashing wares in his shop. The wards went wild, some letting out a siren and others bursting into flames blue, green and orange. One of his hands at last grabbed what must have been the magical incantation's metaphorical neck for it fought more viciously now. He let the idea of victory strengthen him, reaching deeper into his magical reserves and _pulled_. He sensed something tear, just a stitch and then he bowled over from the force of his own pull. The dark magic he gripped so tightly drained away like sand in a fisted hand until only a few crumbled pieces remained. Yogul quickly placed them in a small glass jar, sealing it with one of his wards.

Sweat coated his brow and the struggle left him mentally and physically fatigued. He crawled into one of his chairs, eyeing the cleansed game board and then the jar of dark fragments.

_ Why would someone spike a game board, a Midgardian game board at that, with dark magic? Because of little Jane? What pull of politics or power could she possibly wield? _Perchance, far, far more than he realized, an insight darker forces saw and acted upon.

It was a disturbing thought to contemplate.

Flushed with his triumph over the dark magic, Yogul did not notice the thin wisp of dark sorcery spiral around one of the stubby peg legs. It squeezed itself into the shadows and waited, waited for opportunity to find its prey.

* * *

Winter was the bibliophile's season; cuddling up into plush cushions, piping hot snacks and mulled drinks on the side table plus a book thicker than Thor's bicep spilled somewhere between her lap and the chair's armrest. Volume twenty-four of the twenty-six set dictionary. English to Old Norse. By now she was easily fluent in the latter language; she spoke it as easily as breathing along with a smattering of dwarfish, the lilting patois of Alfheim, and even some of the darker, more forgotten tongues of Aesirs' archenemies. Such books were hard to come by though the castle library was anything but bereft of such subject matters. (What it did lack was a more modern analysis and pictures of Midgard present day.) Jane was no harp player or embroiderer master like her mother but her mind was on par if not above any aristocratic standard.

Jane turned the page, her mouth working the dictionary entries to no real sound, barely even a sigh. She loved her old language with nostalgic passion. The way English warmed her being and undulated over her tongue was as close as she came to understanding how magic surged through magicians.

_Taenia._

_ Tsar._

_ Tuba._

Loki spared no expense when he penned this. Yes, Loki himself penned this, even sketched in a few pictures for Jane to see her old homeland and the objects it described. On more than one occasion Jane wondered how, though if she asked Loki just gave his iconic smirk with a finger to his lips and Jane knew the secret would stay with him. The gift was almost half a decade old but there wasn't a day Jane didn't pick one volume and peruse its contents. Paper mulberry silken as some of the finest weaved cloth brushed with black ink in Loki's cursive, elegant script; even if it was a lexicon, Jane often found herself skimming the book's appearance for the sheer beauty of it. Her script looked like a drunkard's doodling in comparison.

Jane sipped at her cider, turning another page. She was in the "U" section now but instead of reading the English aloud she switched to Norse.

_Óhræddr_. Unafraid.

_Skilja_. To understand however a better translation is to part, divide, separate.

_Sveinstauli_. Urchin. Now she knew what they had always called her in the past. Couldn't blame them; Loki rubbed off on her as a child as did his penchant for playful tricks.

An unexpected chill ghosted past her ear and Jane yelped, jumping. Loki's quiet chuckling told her who the culprit was. Her lips formed into a moue but her eyes betrayed the happiness at seeing her brother.

"Loki, what are you doing here?" Loki casually took over the chair next to hers, always assuming that dignified grace as he lounged.

"I'm allowed to indulge in the library, too, I'm sure you're aware." Jane almost rolled her eyes. He did that, replying with a bon mot instead of something more straight forward. Jane took on the same haughty grace her brother exuded and Loki raised an eyebrow at her mimicry.

"You came because Fenrir told you about the gift, didn't he?" Loki said nothing about his gossiping wolf though his smirk grew into a smile. However aloof he pretended, Jane understood he looked froward to their afternoons as much as she. She stood up and walked over to the silk covered square. Unraveling the wrapping and then picking it up—it was heavy so she had to grab it from the bottom—Jane winced. A small cut, nothing more. She adjusted the weight and brought it over to the table. She picked it up just yesterday and hinted at a surprise for Loki when she chatted with Fenrir over belly rubs. What a scuttlebutt sniffing canine.

Loki's eyes analyzed all its details: Nineteen by nineteen crisp and fine sable lines vertically and horizontally crisscrossed to form 361 even squares, each no bigger than one of Jane's fingernails; thick and tall for a board game and judged off of Jane's muscle strain, heavy (well, heavy for a mortal anyway); ligneous of make and lacquered smooth, old by mortal standards but not Aesir ones. It held itself with a simple sort of allure Loki could appreciate. Jane took out two boxes each holding stones of almost dwarfish sized. Black stones and white stones.

Interesting.

The rules proved to be all about gaining territory, which was different from the other games Jane introduced him to over time. He relished in playing chess but Jane was getting tired of thoroughly trounced and toyed with just before he'd checkmate her king. Theoretically a new game would give her a semblance of success or at least the chance for it. The rules were simple but the potential moves innumerable. Such a game enticed him immensely. Stone were drawn; Loki was black, Jane white.

Jane bit down a smile at the positively eager face her brother showed. He loved games and Jane found board games still gave their relationship that closeness that age dared to try and take away. That Loki could finally flex his mind and not just his martial talents was a happiness Jane didn't realize she gave him. His and Thor's relationship may be recovering but their inherent differences remained. Thor loved the thrill of battle even if he was less prone to swinging his hammer and Loki enjoyed the pursuits of knowledge and battles of wit. Steepled fingers rested just below his gaze, his focus on the blank board as schemes and plays and counter plays whirred non-stop behind calculative green eyes.

The black pebble clacked to the board with nary a sound. The cycle of black then white then black again dulled the other sounds in the library—traps laid and baited, traps ignored and plans ruined, small bouts of victory, great bouts of lost territory. All the while, Loki's eyes scintillated over the game of wits. Jane had no poker face but more than once Loki found himself trying to wiggle out of a trap by his sister, which brought a tiny smirk to his face.

_ Clever girl. _

Jane won the first game after the extra points were tallied and Loki denied sulking over his loss, to which Jane mollified him with another game, this one not as silent as its predecessor.

"I can't believe you Asgardians don't have fairy tales." Loki lay a black stone in the top right corner.

"We've been over this Jane. Asgardians have their own set of fairy tales. I'm surprised you remember so much of Midgard it being so long ago." She parried his strike.

"It's not that I remember so much, it just…it comes in random patches. I'll be thinking about the stars and suddenly remember what Earth's, Midgard's, sky looks like." Her eyes went far away for a moment, a hesitant smile on her lips. "Did you know Midgard's night sky is a black-blue? The best nights are when a hint of blue shades the atmosphere and the stars glow much brighter then. You know I want to see more. I love Asgard; I love it here. But you and Thor get to travel, why doesn't Dad let me wander the realms?" Loki did not always agree with Odin, recently they butted heads more than ever, but on this topic he and his father were of the same mind. He set down another stone with an air of authority.

"The realms are no place for a mortal." Jane slapped down a white one just as fiercely, if not more so.

"Then why am I here?" A good question, the answer of which Frigga only recently enlightened him on and an answer he continued to mull over.

"I don't know." _Liar._

Jane sighed and set down another stone. "Well, that makes two of us." Loki surveyed the game but his mind drifted from the stone covered board. As the silence stretched on, Jane looked up to see her brother staring at her.

"Is it so bad, staying here with us?" His words was more mellow than usual, almost tentative.

"No," Jane honestly replied, leaning back in her chair and sighing. "I love it here. I love all of you. It's…I wonder sometimes why I'm treated so different. Like none of you can make up your mind what I really am."

Loki's hand cupped her face, his forehead touching hers and whereas Jane did not continually hold Thor's gaze, Jane could not look away from those green eyes of her brother. "You are my little Jane." _Mine_. "A mortal who loves looking at the stars and seeking knowledge and playing the fiddle." Jane blushed a little at that. "You have the fire and fortitude of any Aesir warrior and the dignity worthy of the Asgardian royal family. But whom you are and will always be is," _Mine, always mine,_ "yourself. The place where you live shouldn't change that. No one can change that but you, don't let them tell you otherwise." Jane leaned in to hug him and he let her. Hugging Jane became an indulgence if not an addiction he got used to but couldn't pinpoint when it started. Loki rested his cheek on her head and took in a deep breath. Jane never smelled of flowers or spices like the ladies of the court. No, she smelled of old tomes, rich in ink and a heady mixture of papyrus and vellum and just a hint of dust. It was the smell of a scholar. Loki loved this perfume over flowers and spices.

"And those tales about waking a female with a kiss are a ridiculous notion. I wake you up with a zap of magic and it seems to do the trick just fine." From within the confines of a hug Jane slapped at his side, Loki's laughter rumbling all around her. The trickster pushed aside his conversation with his mother. What mattered was Jane and she wasn't going anywhere. He had made sure of that.

Their games and battles of wit extended into the night, which was not so unusual though waking to find Jane in his bed fiddling with one of her many telescope lens, polishing, peering through the glass and never wholly satisfied with its cleanliness was a whiplash of déjà vu. Jane. In his bed. She smiled and accused him of being a sleepyhead, not a title he's accustomed to hearing, if ever. When he doesn't say anything, she looks at him, really looks at him and sees his uncertainty. Her smile brightens into a loving wink.

"Mom and I, we talked." He feels Fenrir at his ankles, the two of them holding the wolf's rapt attention. His eyes suggested a question and Jane nodded. "Yeah, we did and she admitted she was wrong and that I was wrong. Plus I completely ratted you out and said you snuck into my bed anyways." Fenrir wheezed out a chuckle and Loki shoved him off the bed, earning a indignant yip. His sister was such a tattletale.

Not that he could deny much of her claims anyway. He had not been…pleased (yes, that's a diplomatic term for it) when their mother changed how she handled Loki's and Jane's relationship. Loki, unlike Jane, did not explode and throw temper tantrums—honestly, she and Thor were too much alike in that regard. Instead, he did what he did best; trickery and deception. What was that Midgardian phrase about the mountain and Muhammed? He found her bed still plebeian puny but Loki was not about to go without his mortal teddy bear and he grew tired of dragging out a puppy-sized wolf by the scruff of his neck from his sibling's room. His bleary green eyes were accusatory.

"You were supposed to be asleep." Jane grinned at him, the words "Fooled ya" dancing around unsaid. Loki hummed something in response and pulled his little sister into another hug, breathing in again the smell of an old library. Jane let herself be hugged. Age brought other things with it than just a few more inches of growth and a body that still bemused her at times; observances Jane had taken for granted clicked into reason and explanation. Loki did not hug Thor or their father or really anyone else, not even his amorous companions of past. His hugs were only for her and mother. Her brother was such a fragile soul, a creature easily wounded. Jane had decided long ago that she would always mollify her brother's hurts.

"I'll be playing at the tavern tonight. Are you coming?" Loki released her and flopped back with a groan, one of a handful of instances her brother did not keep up his preen, princely appearance.

"I cannot believe you—no, I can believe you enjoy such a pastime, but I thought I trained you better than that." Jane almost rolled her eyes over Loki's dramatics.

"You should take pride in how long I was able to fool everyone, including you." Loki didn't like the add-on at the end. She did fool him, as much as the others, and if it weren't so amusing he'd want her to stop that. Jane tugged at his sleeve, eyes pleading just a little. "Thor will be there."

"I imagine he's never missed it since that first, horrible night." Now Jane really did roll her eyes.

"Asgardian waltzes are not exactly the most fun one can have while dancing, Loki."

"You would never know, you've never danced with me." And suddenly, he really wanted to, to dance with his sister. The bed dipped and her felt her weight and warmth depart.

"Fine, stay and sleep and smell like a wolf." Fenrir's ears cocked back a twitch. What was wrong with smelling like wolf? He took a bath almost two moons ago! Fenrir caught his master staring at him, contemplating his sister's words a little too much and looking at him with a little bit of blame, as if he were the cause of lil' Mistress's departure.

_ Doggone it, Mistress. _

Lacing up a simple tunic and trousers didn't take long, the same of which couldn't be said from the walk to the tavern which is why she rode Kraki. He liked being paraded through the streets and though Jane preferred a screen of anonymity, she liked spoiling her elk. Despite Loki's tense interactions with the elk, Jane found him to be a sweetheart. Garikith would have told her that Alfheim deer bond with their rider, many following their owner into death from sheer loneliness and sorrow at his or her passing, being unable to bear a broken life-bond. The flip side was that they cherished and doted upon their rider unlike many other animals, going back for them in battle and fighting off carnivorous packs to protect him or her. For now, Kraki was just a jealous sweetheart.

Ivar twirled her around as custom his greeting and Jane chided him for his scratchy stubble. Thor was already four pints deep in a drinking contest with Volstagg, the rest of his party engaging in small talk or finding future dance companions. Lorcun and Ziggy greeted her arrival, Lorcun's cap pulled over his eyes and Ziggy strumming a not full melody. That same young man who asked her to dance and Ivar accepted on her behalf was there and when he caught her gaze, smiled and winked. She blushed and looked away. Ivar had some teasing reply but Jane just swatted at him, blush growing. It was Ziggy's turn to choose the opening piece and he did so with a smirk all too much like Loki's.

"The Joys of Spring." If Jane was blushing before she was positively Muspelheim lava red now. She stole a swig of his sugared drink, the alcohol burning more than a little on the way down. Liquid courage, that was what she needed tonight especially given her companions' propensity to tease. Ivar boomed out a laugh at her hiccups, which took more than a sip of water to abate. She tuned her fiddle, her bandmates doing the same and tried to focus on the notes to "The Joys of Spring" and not the lyrics Ivar belted out six bars down the line.

Tonight's tavern saw a swell of patrons, the work week, or the Asgardian equivalent of it, coming to an end and the night before the day off brought out the playful side of the Aesir. Jane found her eyes meandering back to that dark-haired youth, and sometimes he caught her staring and sometimes he didn't. When he asked her for another dance, Ziggy sighed out a "Finally!" that Jane just barely heard over the din. Like Ivar, he didn't wait for Jane's reply but took her fiddle and twirled her into the youth's open arms. His smile was as sweet as the last time, his steps quick and skilled regardless of the honey wine he had a penchant to imbibe in between songs. Jane could not say the same for herself and she was not even drinking nearly as much as her partner. A melodic laugh worked its way past her throat when she saw Fandral and Volstagg go for the same dance partner only to get stuck with each other. Their matching faces said what they thought of such an arrangement, especially what moves the musical piece demanded. Jane and her partner laughed harder when it was Fandral dipping Volstagg. Well, trying to dip.

Thor proved to be the most desirable dance partner—being prince had its perks, Jane imagined—so Jane felt the prick of more than a few glares as her brother twirled her about not for just one song but three. When a buxom blonde caught his eye, Jane released him with an eye roll and nudging push. Thor kissed the back of her hand in a mock gentleman's departure and frolicked (her big brother frolicking; this memory will be as fun to recall as the time Loki described Thor wearing a dress) about the mead slick tavern floor.

Somewhere between playing pieces, facing with the handsome stranger, sometimes dancing with her brother and even getting one dance in with her bandmates, Jane felt loose and good. Good enough to lean in when this handsome youth kissed her. He tasted of the honeyed wine he drank, just a touch acidic and more than a taste of sweet. They broke apart, out of breath more from the dancing than tongue foreplay, but the youth smiled at her, a suggestion on the tip of his tongue.

She never heard them. A quick, strong arm scooped her up, threw her onto his shoulder and walked out of the bar without pause. She knew that leather coat, upside down perspective or no.

"Loki?!"

He didn't answer but kept walking with Jane thrown over his shoulder. It was cold—snowing!—and Jane shivered despite the alcohol in her blood, needing to lean a little closer to him for warmth.

"Wait, what, what are you doing here? You said you weren't coming."

"That mistake won't happen again as I see what you do in my absence." His words were a growl that Jane couldn't completely catch over the blood pulsing in her ears, still hot and surging from her activities at the tavern.

"Wait. Stop! Put me down!" He did not. "My violin!" He stopped then, just long enough to whistle. Fenrir materialized soon enough.

"Go fetch the violin." Fenrir's head bobbed down to his paws, looking at them and then his master. The wolf's viridescent eyes did not need to say much. "Right," he sighed. He re-shouldered Jane, she now increasing the volume of her voice and demanding to be put down.

"I'm seventeen, Loki. I'm more than capable of making my own choices and I'm not drunk either." The barest of slurs to her words were both a testament to the fact and a contradiction. At least, she wasn't that drunk. Loki weighed his options, if anything happened to that fiddle Jane would not speak to him again. Ever. If he returned, Jane would be back at that tavern with that _boy_. Not as he lived and breathed. Jane was wiggling and kicking, making her more difficult to deal with but nothing a magical conjuring spell of ropes wouldn't fix. He returned to the tavern alone. Jane yelled obscenities at his back.

"You suck, Loki!" Damn him denying her hormones like this!

Had Fenrir been able to communicate with lil' Mistress like he could with Master, he would have calmed her worries with advice of his own: Master didn't want to deny her hormones (whatever those were), he just didn't want to share.


	8. Chapter 8

**Going on break/hibernating. See me in a month from this update. Unless this stupid Loki/Jane bug comes back to bite me again, in which case you know where to find me.**

**P.S. Let me know how to fix this chapter/what you think. Thanks.**

**Hawkz**

* * *

_What Might Have Been: Chapter VIII_

The subject couldn't be avoided anymore:

He had the hots for his sister.

His adopted mortal sibling was, officially, tormenting Loki's dreams in all the good ways. Or bad. (Perspective, it is all about perspective.) Loki raked a hand through his hair, messing it up but he didn't care. Ever since the tavern incident, Fate was slipping all these incidents his way like Viagra.

Jane falling overboard when Thor took her out on Asgard's lake; a layer of paint couldn't have hugged her body any closer. It was no longer winter but Jane shivered the whole way down the hall. Loki knew just how he wanted to warm her up, paused at the sudden thought and marched straight into his room, cranked up the water to ice cold and sat there for fifteen minutes. The next involved involved walking in on Jane wearing nothing but a high-thigh short robe. (He had knocked!) Jane told him he could come in and he did. She had her back to him and was working the knots out of her hair, showing off an ivory smooth neck. Then she dropped the brush and bent down to get it… He exited the same door he just entered, ignoring her cries asking where he was going and what had he wanted anyway. He found himself taking another shower.

So Fate was either being terribly good to him or terribly unkind. Loki did not appreciate being turned into an Aesir prune so, no, Fate was not being all that kind. Truly, if only this dilemma could be solved by finding female affection from one of the many court ladies that assembled for all the ceremonies and festivities at the castle. They proved to be a short term solution. Afterwards he wanted, no, _needed_, the affection of his other half. The half of him who kept dark thoughts away from his mind and helped bridge the gap between his brother and he; the other half who never stopped marveling over his magic tricks; the other half that made him complete in so many ways.

At night he cursed Frigga, Queen of Asgard, mother to he and Thor, for bringing in this mortal minx. Come day he praised his mother for wisdom as he and Jane exchanged witticisms and laughed and enjoyed pure happiness over her company as they played another game of chess or Go or one of many things to which she introduced him. The idea of a mortal introducing him to things even he in all his years hasn't seen or tried was scorn worthy until barely two decades ago. Another mere eye blink and so much had changed.

This change terrified Loki.

He knew how to deal with Thor, he knew how to deal with Odin and his mother and the inhabitants of all the realms; just not this one little mortal. Loki's frustration manifested into anger and left the city limits on the back of his wolf. Destruction of trees and rocks and whatever innocents had the bad luck to be nearby did not quite soothe him but it was an outlet and he took it. Fenrir watched his master with uncertain eyes. Magic scarred the land in all the wrong places; ancient trees getting uprooted and thrown about yards away. Loki pounded his hands against the rock for the basic feel of crushing something.

Master was quiet now, breathing heavily, yes, but no longer letting loose rage and destruction. Fenrir crept slowly, on his belly, to the burnt out crater of which Loki knelt at the center. He didn't react at first, his master focused on regulating his breathing, controlling his rage. How long had it been since his master blew off steam. He was so good at bottling things up, storing all the bad things away. Maybe that wasn't such a good thing; maybe Master had only stored up the hate, the grudges, the bad things until they grew too heavy to bear. Fenrir whined, low and uncertain, but this time Loki leaned against his muzzle for support.

"Fenrir, you and I have lived nearly two thousand years. How did we not see this coming?"

Fenrir wanted to snort; oh, he saw this coming alright. Maybe not the rage and drama bit, but he totally saw this coming. Fenrir focused on an image of lil' Mistress coupled with a question and propelled it towards his master. Loki sighed.

"I don't know, boy. I've never been so dependent on another creature before." _Except that was not true, isn't it?_ The words turned over in his mind and Loki shifted just enough to gaze upon his creation. His "sort of creation". Made as a boy from a discarded wolf pup and infused with Loki's own blood and magic to stay alive those first few seasons, Fenrir and he were as close, closer, than he and Thor. Fenrir kept him sane during those times of tormented childhood: When people made fun of him for his magical arts, his weak martial strength, always comparing him to Thor until Thor became the sun and he the shadow. Fenrir got him through all of that and when he couldn't help his master anymore, Jane came along and picked up the slack. Sweet little Jane whom Fenrir adored as much as Loki. Perhaps he should have taken it as a sign then of things to come.

Loki reclined against Fenrir's spiky snowy fur. He hadn't curled up into Fenrir's warmth and listened to his wolf's beating heart in centuries, almost a millennium. Comparing his present day self to that of his child days self did not please the trickster deity. It made him feel weak, pathetic, unchanged. He studied and trained, trained so much to where Loki could still feel the blood and the calluses from those years, until he could fight with the best of them. He may not have Thor's brawn but he didn't need it; he had his brain. And his magic.

How Jane loved his magic. And his voice, her always asking, begging, Loki to read aloud another tale, to tell another travel adventure. Sometimes she called him out on his lies, other times giving him a lopsided grin that begot her incredulity. She loved his clothing, which was never an obsession Loki could fully wrap his head around save for the current pleasure he got imagining Jane in one of his tunics and nothing else. Her quirks could be a good thing, he supposed. And yes, she was pretty with those red-brown eyes, silky hazel-colored hair and a stature that was really too small for such a spitfire and tragically fragile, so easily broken, but that was not what mattered. That intellect, that mind, that passion, that character, that damnably stubborn will and curiosity that has her marveling over his magic the first time he showed her and every day since.

Was that why he couldn't find real satisfaction in the court ladies? For all their finery and charm and beauty and wit they paled juxtaposed to his sister's—no, Jane, he couldn't call her a sister anymore, not in his heart. The physical was nice, still pleasurable, but it no longer fulfilled or assuaged. No, if he wanted that, he must have Jane. But…would _she_ have _him_?

A cold, damp ball of fear took root in his stomach.

Rejection.

Could he handle being her brother, just her brother? He could hug her but not touch her, be adored by her but not loved in the ways he wanted, in all the ways that mattered? Something as simple as an invisible line in the sand to keep him from her for as long as her short Midgardian life allowed and then losing her after she withered away. Would he still have to suffer this pain if she had just loved Thor like everyone else and left him alone? Would he still hurt and know only hurt, how to hurt? Loki felt truly sick to his stomach now.

_Never, not anymore, no._

He never wanted to let her go.

He didn't want to be alone, not anymore.

No, he could no longer be just her brother.

But, what if she did deny him? Tell him no, never, not anymore.

Fenrir curled a little closer to his master, sensing the war of melancholia and wrath that tormented his Aesir. Fenrir wanted so badly to make it better, to make the hurt hurt less, but, he did not know what to do. Thus, he did the only thing he knew after all these years—never leave his master's side.

The two Asgardian inhabitants stayed like that even as the suns set and moonlight and shadows washed over them. His master never noticed much the cold but Fenrir was determined to provide him with warmth, with comfort and company all the same. Loki came out of his abstraction when the moon was high but the fields quiet, even the insects asleep and wary. One of his hands stroked the fur on the canine's muzzle.

Jane.

His Jane.

_Mine._

Those words gave him enough strength to sit up, to contemplate, to use the mind that got him out of so many scraps previous to this. Loki mediated over the facts.

Jane was mortal. He's have to fix that within the next decade, preferably sooner, but at least a decade.

Jane was of flesh and blood, same as any Aesir female and therefore prone to all its temptations. Idly, Loki wondered if mortals had the same sensitive spots as their Aesir counterparts. He would find out.

Most importantly, Jane was his. Not even the All-Father would change that truth which Loki kept close to his heart. He was sure Jane would protest on some sort of independence grounds, perhaps even out of that same stubbornness that made her so attractive. Very well, she could keep her illusions. Besides, it's not like he planned to chain her to his bed and lock her in his room for seasons on end.

He decided to start slow, mere inches of distinction to change their relationship microbe by microbe. Loki was quick, cunning, and deviously clever, minute and subtle. Jane could not put her finger on an apt title for this change she perceived—somehow different, somehow weird yet neither truly described it.

Loki fought his battles with inches and seduced by degrees of variation. His hands lingered an inch lower when he placed him palm on her back to guide her this way or that. His gaze dipped inches lower when she was talking but if she blinked he was staring at her eyes again and she doubted what she saw as happening. He walked an inch closer, she could feel his body heat, the tails of his leather coat skimming along the back of her calves, tickling right behind her knees. When Jane left a room his gaze lingered a little longer. Where once only she and Thor visited the tavern of Dyfflin for romp and play Loki now loitered in the corner booths only half visible yet never far. Jane wasn't sure how he did it but the drinks she sipped tasted little and less of alcohol. Oh, they tasted savory and sweet enough, they just lacked any alcoholic burn. She still danced and played with her fiddle, which were acts of freedom and unrestraint she longed for after days stuck in a stuffy castle. And yet. And yet…

Jane had crushes. She had boys she pined for. Back when she was not much younger she used to blush every time Markl smiled at her and held her hand. Early in her times with her string quartet Jane snuck glances at Ziggy and got thrills in her stomach when it was just the two of them talking. Boys continued to talk to her and she to boys and yet nothing progressed beyond sugar-coated words and sugar-coated smiles. For all her escapades and escapes outside the castle her sheltered upbringing had one big, glaring consequence: Boys. Loki would need to count his good fortune for that but Jane was getting frustrated—all sorts of frustrated—that the flirtations by her and by boys brave enough to talk to her never seemed to advance anywhere. Maybe she was doing it all wrong.

Years of a complacent, borderline static, relationship with Loki blinded her to the possibility, the potentiality of metamorphosis. Loki, God of Lies and Mischief, Silver-tongued Trickster and Creator of Chaos, courted refashioning their relationship. He relished in change, things new and untested, even if it scarred him or he feared the results—Loki _could_ change. Not that he had much say in this matter; if he wanted his sanity, he needed to change the foundation of his and Jane's relationship, the base of which couldn't be sibling love anymore. However, Jane, the mortal whose only concern was the stars and visiting other realms, pursued stability, a constant place within Asgard's castle. Jane did not want that change. She was more than happy to love Loki as a brother, only a brother.

Jane no longer jumped when he pecked her temple as a greeting.

"Hi…Loki," The small frown belied her uncertainty over his newfound fondness for placing chaste kisses along her hands and head as a hello. Loki did not used to be this touchy. "What brings you to the orrery?"

He didn't sprawl out in his usual chair with that monarchial air, rather with growing frequency he stood behind her, his height making up for his skinnier frame. Lean and full of sharp angles and a bony figure, not much about him suggested muscular, certainly not like Thor, but there was power within his being. He held himself too confidently, was too assertive for an equivocal presence begetting impotence. He didn't hide in the shadows at court anymore, not even when his brother in the room and more people curved their heads to glimpse at him when he walked past. There was no way for Jane to make the connection; she avoided royal gatherings to be here, in the orrery, but she was not blind to the contrasting nature in which he moved, his posture aligned to different angles. Wolfish is what he became, more teeth in his smiles and an air of danger dangling between him and his select companions. Jane heard the smile in his tone and an image of honed teeth flashed quickly in her mind's eye, disappearing just as fast as it came.

"Oh, the usual." She hadn't an idea what 'the usual' meant but as his gaze trailed her from shelf to shelf as she pulled out books an inkling of an idea come to mind.

_Preposterous._ She banished the thought.

"I think the prince of Asgard has more pressing duties than to baby-sit his sister." There is was again. Her peripherals caught it this time. A dampening flash in his eyes when she mentioned their familial ties. It wasn't that he stopped loving her; no, Loki showed his love for her all the time. Nonetheless, there was something in that look Jane could not process. She was a science person, not a people person. People were a complexity beyond her capabilities and however much she figured out Thor and Loki over the years more little nuances crept up like little outliers that skewed her data.

Loki tinkered with one of her devices, pretending to focus on the object instead of his companion. The same old xenosmilus lounged in the sunlight but that old clerk had long been gone. Retired, Jane answered when he asked. The big cat regarded Loki through lazy albeit keen eyes. Centuries with Fenrir taught Loki well how to read the gaze of an animal.

_Offer no threat in my sanctuary and there will be peace between you and I._

Large sabertooth or not Loki didn't believe the old cat capable of hurting him, but he did not make it a habit to underestimate his opponents and more importantly Jane was immeasurably fond of the feline. She was like those females in her ridiculous Midgardian fairy tales, amassing woodland creatures to her. At least she didn't burst into song. The trickster paused for a moment. Had he ever heard Jane sing? Not since she was a child who hummed little ditties as she skipped. He wondered what her voice was like now. Jane came back into his orbit, nose in a book as was her habit. She waved away his presence.

"Loki, if you're using me as an excuse to shirk your duties, I'll not suffer Dad's bellyaching to save your hide. He's moody enough as it is with the upcoming visits from the other realms."

Ah, the Frost Giants. It was rare to have an ambassador from that world. The Jotunns in question supposedly came to talk peace; none of which Thor believed to be true and often griped about his suspicions to his brother. Yes, he was well aware what was going on in the political realm; however he wished to concentrate on the personal realm.

"Be reassured, little one, that unlike Thor I hold my position in high esteem and perform my princely duties as befitting a royal Asgard." Jane knew better than the take his words at face value. His tone held no venom and whatever advances he and Thor did and would make in regards to their kinship, Loki and Thor would forever butt heads. She kept reading and Loki frowned at her ignoring his presence. Hard to seduce a Midgardian when they paid you as much attention as paint on the walls, even with his powers of persuasion.

No matter. He liked a challenge.

Jane felt a shiver work its way down her spine and pivoted to find Loki grinning at her, all teeth. "Loki, why are you staring at me?"

"How about a game? A little wager?"

Jane shut the book, turning her back on him again to choose another. While he wore that goblin's grin? Jane wasn't that much of a fool. "No thanks." Curse her worthless height. Jane stood on her tippy toes. A spindly appendage that could only belong to the trickster god reached over her head and selected her desired anthology. He didn't give it to her, instead flipping through the pages himself. Jane scowled at him.

"Give it back Loki."

"Why? I'm reading it."

"No you're not, you just want to tease."

_Likewise Jane. _Involuntary or not, it felt better to assign her some of the blame. Made him feel better anyway. "You can have it if you play a little bet with me."

Jane groaned as she sat down, a resigned sigh wheezing out of her. "What's the game?"

His grin grew wider. "Oh, it's a very simple game." Those were the worst kind with him and the glare Jane shot him told him what she thought of his 'simple games'. "If you can name more star constellations in the sky than I can find, you win. If I can point out every star constellation you name, I win. Winner gets a prize." Jane blinked. That's it? She would completely trounce Loki. The skies were her world and she studies these skies for almost two decades now. Suspicion tapered her eyes. Experience taught her better than the unthinkingly agree to anything her brother offered.

"What's the catch?" Loki opened his hands wide, pulling up his sleeves for show.

"No catch, no magic. I win, I get what I want. You win, you get not only this book but a night where I magick you to the top of the Asgardian mountains and you get to study the stars there for a night." Jane's jaw went slack and sepia eyes opened comically wide. There were no lights in the mountains but it was cold up there even in summer. Loki could magically keep her warm all through the night and she could do research and—!

"Done." Experiences forgotten. Loki smiled and extended his hand to one of the telescopes. Jane would not go easy on him, not for a night in the mountains. She listed off the more difficult ones—the Brawling Bear, Freyr's Fair Lady, King's Cup, Alfheim Archer—the list grew and grew until Jane felt a trickle of fear dampen the nape of her neck. He was pointing out each and every one of them. _But, but…how? How did he—?_

Her drawings.

Day after day for year after year she drew the skies to him, told him about the stars, explained which were her favorites and why they looked that way. Apparently he had been listening. At any other time, the knowledge would have overjoyed her. Currently she internally seethed. She stopped after Jotunn's Bride, a horribly complex scribble of stars that drew even her bonkers. He got that one too. When the silence only grew, he gave her a wolfish smile.

"Fine," she spat, feeling cheated even when her brother won fair and square. "What palm of victory do you want?"

He doesn't answer right away and that proves unnerving. Jane catches his expression which is redolent of solemnity, as if there was a merchant's scale weighing his options and the results left him hard pressed to choose between them. Nothing is said but his lips twitch once, twice into a smile and Jane fights off the instinct to book it to the door. First of all he'd catch her and second, she gave her word. She liked to think she could be as honorable as her eldest brother. Step by step he moseyed over until only Loki's chest was visible unless Jane tipped her head back. He dotted her head with a kiss and leaned in by her ear. "Dress warmly. I'll see you tonight." Loki took a step back and swung around to the door.

_Huh?_

"Wait! What about your prize?" Wickedly, he grinned.

"I'm working on that." Loki left leaving behind a terribly confused Jane.

_Working on what?_

The answer came post-dinner, when she was close to nodding off. He made her put on a different cloak and wrapped one of his green scarves around her neck before the ripple of magic swelled around them and they flickered into disappearance. Snow ate up ankle high but there was no wind and the sky was cloudless. Jane couldn't have withheld her exclamation of joy had she tried. She whooped and hollered, not at all tired any more and grinning so big her face hurt. Loki wasn't ready for when she kissed him on both cheeks, saying her thanks so fast and repeatedly she bit her tongue. Twice. The smile he gave her was affectionate. He told her his magic could keep her warm up here but only within a certain distance from his person. She was too exuberant to notice the white lie caught in his teeth.

Jane stayed the next few hours cuddled against his chest and wrapped with his vivid green cape and pointing out constellations, their culture, their history, their shapes to which he listened if only to hear the sound of her voice. When that tapered off Jane leaned her head against his shoulder so that the last thing she saw before fading into sleep were the stars. Jane fell asleep with the stars above her and a beating heart echoing a familiar lullaby.

Loki didn't move immediately. Rather he took his time to savor Jane's presence in his lap and the cool mountain air at his back. Valhalla could offer him no better paradise than here. The scarf kept him from leaving any mark on Jane's neck and he supposed it was for the best. Perhaps it was too early for Jane to wake up to hickeys along her throat.

_ Patience, Loki, patience._

Jane shifted against him, curling deeper into his side and Loki heard his name pass her lips like a sigh.

He wasn't sure he had that much patience.

* * *

Nidhug threw himself forward, straining the metal chocker enchanted to hold him in place. Strained but not broken, never broken. The dragon bellowed out a roar of rage and hunger.

_Hungry, so hungry._

Hungry enough to drive a dragon mad. His jaws chewed anything in reach—the chain binding him to this torture chamber, the dirt, Yggdrasil's roots, the walls, his own hind leg—anything to give him a taste of food, the illusion of substance. He was hungry, so exceptionally hungry. No life force trickled down to feed him any more, those wretched magicians damning him in an eternity of emptiness. An empty dragon stomach leading to the rot of his mind. Nidhug roared again, claws slashing up these invisible walls that kept him prisoner. Magic kept him from nourishing himself along Yggdrasil's roots. Magic damned him. Magic, how he hated magic. A skeletal spine pushed up from his back scales giving him a sickly, decomposing appearance. Insanity worked up his throat, breathed out with every breath and came back in through his nostrils, filling his lungs and from there throughout his being until it was crawling up his esophagus again in a horrible, cyclical method of purgatory.

He needed food. Needed the life force from Yggdrasil. Needed the souls of those passed and gone, returned to the land, returned to Yggdrasil.

_Food. Food. Food. Food. Food._

There were no longer any other thoughts that came and went. Only muscle memory remained—strain counter to the chain, see if it breaks; claw away, claw away; hate magic users, hate, hate, hate—and the lines between his muscles and his mind wore thin. Corporeality and concepts were words he barely understood any more. This realm, that realm, his duty, his pride, his sense of self; all were drowning in hunger.

_Food. Food. Food. Food. Food._

He'd do anything for food.

Some of those magicians, or magician helpers, both equally bad equally deserving of his hate, walked past his cell. Nidhug couldn't process their words anymore, snippets of their conversation flowing in one ear and out the other. Nothing made sense.

"Asgard…rampage…distraction…goal is…"

_No. No!_ He wanted food! Where was his food?

He lurched again in opposition to the collar and chain. One of the bolts came loose. It was just enough to snag one of the magicians in a claw. He went down messily and Nidhug lapped at the blood spilled. The taste of the creature only fueled his hunger to new heights.

_More_, he needed more.

The other scrabbled away, just too far out of reach and Nidhug thundered his displeasure.

More of those creatures came out at the ruckus and talked amongst themselves. Nidhug showed no interest. He was just hungry, so woefully hungry.

The leader rose his hand for silence, stepping forward to examine the dragon. Madness glazed Nidhug's eyes; the dragon did not see him.

"It is nigh time to release the Corpse Eater."

One of the members urged conservatism; best to starve the dragon more, rile up his temper.

No, another argued, he grew more unwieldy by the day. Dragons don't die so easily and not by ways known to any realm inhabitants. Far as they knew dragons were immortal and they risked themselves harm by keeping it longer.

The volley of dos or don'ts prattled on, each side trying to persuade the leader to their faction. Wisdoms, facts, schemes, adages all; the leader cared not so long as the result was the same:

Destruction of Asgard.

His plan was not so base, so simplistic as the unleashing of a feral beast upon a city. Striking down a kingdom was not that easy. However, enough blows against its foundation led to cracks in the armor; cracks in the armor offered kill zones, and he knew exactly where in the foundation to strike. The weakest link.

He watched the winged lizard pace, a prickly skeleton of ire and wrath and torturous hunger. He smiled at the creature's sufferings. Asgard had been at peace for far too long. It was time for a new king of the Nine Realms. The leader clenched a fist. And he knew just how to topple the house of Odin from the throne.


	9. Chapter 9

**Praise your fellow Lokane authors. They updated some new and old fics and it motivated me to write this. Damn them all, I was supposed to take it easy for another three weeks! Whatever. Critique away; I've never done seduction scenes and this was written when I should have been asleep. **

**But before I go: Thanks to all who review and chat with me. Your input brought this chapter to life. You know who you are. Cheers to y'all. Also thanks to LaPetiteFleur for the review. I can't reply in person so here's me saying: Your answer to what kind of Loki/Jane story this is lies within the next thousand words (arguably less). Enjoy.**

**Hawkz**

* * *

_What Might Have Been: Chapter IX_

This one began much more plausibly.

Up in the higher balconies, where the towers didn't obscure her view of the sky, Jane drew the stars. Other sheets had mathematical equations on them but Jane set them aside for a brush, some paint and a critical eye for color. She couldn't get the right shade of umber orange-red and her attempts were creeping up into double digits. Growls of frustration worked their way past her throat dragging along muttered profanities. A rumble of laughter and boot-steps told her she had company.

"Always studying the stars with you, little one."

"That's me—constant. I'm a constant in the world laboring to understand its variations in the sky. Bit ironic, don't you think?"

He was closer now. "How so? I thought stars were constant. In different places at different seasons to be sure, but otherwise they don't change." His fingers found a loose lock of hair and pushed it behind her ear. Jane swallowed, trying focus on her drawing. Loki continued. "Perhaps, you are a constant in all the right ways—faithful and dependable, unchangingly so—but I think, given the proper circumstances," He stroked her lock of brown hair and part of Jane wondered why he was still holding it; the other part knew exactly why. "That you'll find a deviation from the norm to be a well welcomed release."

She stood up ungainly so, flustered red and littering papers every which way, putting a bit of distance between she and her brother. He no longer held her hair. "That's," Her brain raced for the words, distracted. "An awfully interesting thing to say. We'll have to argue over it's merits another time." These interactions had to end. They needed to talk things over. Just not now. She spun around to flee and promptly smacked her nose into his chest. _To Helheim with his quickness._ Loki smirked down at her and her stomach squirmed.

"And what if I were to convince you of its merits here and now?" She really didn't like that smirk now.

Her eyes darted to everything not him. "Brother, I don't—"

"Not your brother." He snapped and Jane flinched as if struck. His demeanor softened a smidgen. "Not tonight."

"No, wait, we need to—" Loki was getting dreadfully fond of cutting her off in this particular fashion. His lips were as silky as his voice and Jane knew better than to try and continue talking while Loki kissed her. It was an experience she'd rather not repeat. Clearly Loki disagreed on that subject as Jane felt a rough, wet tongue run across her lips and it was most definitely _not_ hers. It was like he was plucking unseen chords within her, his fingers stroking contours that sent ripple effects throughout the rest of her body. One of his thumbs skirted along her hip and Jane shuddered but kept her mouth firmly closed.

"You're being stubborn tonight," he admonished.

"Well you're—" His tongue darted in and Jane got barely a squeak out before Loki drank in all she might have said. He tasted like snow in a forest and smelled of leather and magic and male. Jane's uncertain, inexperienced tongue did not seem to matter much to him as Loki tilted her head back, dominating, always dominating, and relished in her taste. The nip of his teeth against her mouth brought her out of the daze with shuddering clarity. Jane pushed him away and Loki grunted, unsatisfied, albeit he relented.

There was fire and heat chorusing in her blood and a thrill of desire coiling in her stomach. Jane had to swallow hard and shake her head, none of which dispelled the feelings. With Loki gone she felt objectionably cool. Jane banished the thought with another shake of the head.

"No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. You're my brother and this, this is so wrong. You, you can't keep, I can't keep doing this. I've got to stop." His fingers found her chin and brought her eyes to his, those damnably bright green eyes of his.

"But do you? Do you want to stop?"

_No. Yes, maybe. A little. Just, no, I mean yes! _"Yes." He didn't believe her. His thumb brushed her bottom lip and Jane pulled back. Loki followed step for step until the balcony's railing and a cage of Loki's arms pinned her.

"You don't lie terribly well, Jane." His little mortal shook, defiant.

"I'm not lying."

"Then why can't you look me in the eyes when you say that?" His index finger lifted up her gaze again. It was suddenly a lot more difficult to swallow.

"Loki, what are you doing?" As if she didn't know. His smirk said many things.

"Proving the merits of change." His lips didn't stay on her mouth this time nor did his hands remain idle. Loki yanked her up to sit on the railing; she was such a tiny thing. Every where he touched melted into fire and want and the places he left behind cried out their loss. A hundred different voices swam inside her head and Jane fumbled for a foothold of sanity.

This was so wrong but gods above it felt so good.

A groan of a different kind passed her lips. "Loki…"

At her collarbone, Loki smiled into her flesh. His hands wandered dangerously close to her core and a dynamic zing shot through her body. Jane gasped, breathing heavier than she had before. That sensation, oh that sensation. Her body leaned in, a whine in the back of her throat. Loki's hand came close again, sending another bolt of electricity through her, causing Jane to pull back. These feelings were driving her crazy. She needed to get away and clear her mind. She drew back, forgetting about the ledge and with nothing to stop her descent, fell.

Right off the side of her bed.

A thin layer of sweat cooled her febrile skin and her heart was not by any means slow. Jane's head flopped back to lay against her mattress, a frustrated frown knitting her brow as she grumbled, "Not again."

No, this was not the first time or the third or worse, not even the thirty-third. Jane had lost count a long, long time ago. Sweeping this under the rug as an awkward one time deal didn't seem to be working. Jane buried her head into her hands. _Just, perfect._

The alarm clock read that it was somewhere between the hours of "Goddammit" and "why in Helheim are you awake _now?_", a perfect time for a recurring dream to torment her and rip off the comforting veneer of sleep. Little bursts of static hummed in her body and Jane foresaw that sleep would not come easy tonight. Again. She kicked aside the covers that tumbled off the bed with her and stomped over to the bathing facilities, slamming the door behind her.

_ Reproductive needs are unequivocally the worst evolutionary curse._ Jane decided it was a predicament almost as bad as being swathed in peanut butter and locked in a room with dwarves. People who thought dwarves only cared about gems and precious metals had much to learn.

Down a number of doors in the Asgardian royal wing, Loki stared up at his ceiling, similarly frustrated. Why did she always have to cut him off at the best part? Oneiric projection, what his teacher called dream-weaving, was not demanding but it did require finesse and skill to perfect. He'd have to thank his mother next time he saw her for being so thorough in teaching him not only magic but oneirology as well. It was proving to be one of his more persuasive—and equally fun—tactics. It had been so long since he had to seduce and Loki found the thrill invigorating.

The Liesmith sighed and contemplated the dream. Her body responded to him yet not her mind. The mind continued to rebel. Perhaps, this necessitated an advance outside the dream worlds.

An aroma of old books with just a hint of dust and the slightest taste of cinnamon haunted his own dreams when Loki returned to sleep that evening. Loki Silvertongue could hardly wait to make his dreams reality and demonstrate to his mortal just how worthy of his nickname he was.

* * *

Hard cider would have made her less jumpy but alcohol in her blood could backfire just as easily. No alcohol. For now. And certainly not as long as Loki was in a thought's distance. Jane groaned and gulped a long draught. She turned to her companion; he was the only one she could talk to about this.

"So that's been happening more nights than not. It's-it's driving me _mad_. I mean, my brother? I'm probably destined for the blacker pits of Helheim for these, well, ludicrous thoughts of mine. I mean, Loki? Prince of Asgard, my _brother_. My brother. That's just, ugh!" Jane downed her cider again. "But you know what? I bet I'm over thinking this. I'm just frustrated—really, really frustrated; I'm twenty-one-ish, I have needs which is totally acceptable, natural, okay even—and you know what? I bet Thor had all sorts of similar, humiliating sexual thoughts about his brother back in the day."

The old sabertooth snorted into his cream, looking up to view the Midgardian with skeptical, disbelieving eyes. He stared at her until she got the point.

"Fine," Jane grumbled. "Be that way Mr. Whiskers. Even after I gave you all that cream." Cream which he currently enjoyed. He pawed at her for more when the bowl ran out, mindful of his claws. Jane frowned at his cute kitten eyes. "If I pour you more, will I get sympathetic advice?"

Mr. Whiskers stopped pawing, ears twitching in pensive ways and then he yawned and huffed out a feline affirmative. He could give advice for cream; besides, his little mortal companion would need some to get through this situation. The ancient xenosmilus scratched the scruff of his neck. He remembered that dark-haired fellow. Powerful, arrogant, devious—he liked him. However, he was more fond of the mortal who gave him cream and brushed his coat, things that stupid, creaking caretaker never bothered with before. For her patronage, Mr. Whiskers would bless her with some of his wisdom.

_Coitus_.

_Whomever taught the sabertooth runic spellings was a bastard_, Jane elected. Her face burned as if she had been drinking hard cider, lots of hard cider as she read the clawed runic word in the orrery's floorboards (which she'd have incinerated and replaced). "That is most definitely not an option, Mr Whiskers. There is no way Loki feels anything but platonic affection for me. No way. Plus, we don't do that sort of thing in Asgard." _Or do they?_ She'd have to visit Markl again and ask about Asgardian customs regarding sleeping with one's brother while being obscure and not referencing herself or Loki.

"Maybe I'm just in Midgardian heat. Fenrir goes stir crazy every other spring and goes galloping off into the mountains for a month or two. I bet what I'm feeling will go away come next season." Jane's rationalizations got her a flat stare from the feline. She buried her face in her hands. "But, this is so wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, _wrong_! It's a labyrinth of wrongs so bad, that I , I don't even have a metaphor for how bad it is. It's Dark Elves revived, that's how bad it is." So dammit all, why did it feel so good? Like stars exploding behind her eyes and fire in her blood good? Jane slouched until her forehead rested on the sabertooth's spine, breathing in his similar smell of dust and books and wild to find a sanity's hold on firmer, logical ground.

"What do I do, Mr. Whiskers?"

He made to claw the floor again.

"_Besides_ that!"

One of his canines jutted out, unhappy with her defensive, prudish ways. He scribbled out as much. He lacked the vocal for flowing sentences but Jane got the gist of it. _You beautiful. Mate strong. Get over it._

Jane glared at the cat. "That's not sympathetic." But she certainly was crazy trying to get sex advice from a cat.

_He bad lover?_

Jane nearly spat out her juice reading that one. She did not want to think of how good, or bad, Loki could be in bed. "We're not talking about that." Mr. Whiskers gave the equivalent of a shrug.

_Wants not bad. You no child anymore._

No, she wasn't. She hadn't been one for a couple years now, at least, not by Midgardian standards. She blew a lock of hair out of her face. Frigga, her mother, talked with her about a few things when the realization struck how quickly mortal bodies changed. It was not Frigga who noticed she needed bindings but a servant boy who happened to be doing laundry near where Jane was swimming. Clever, quick moves on the Queen's end kept Thor from electrocuting the boy via Mjolnir and from Loki from ever finding out. Mother and daughter sat down for a talk soon after that.

Frigga was open-minded, progressive and thoroughly enchanted by the Alfheim prince Garikith. She had a twinkle in her eye every time Gar called upon her and the Queen was near or smiled when the elf prince walked her through the gardens. Frigga occasionally dressed her up before she met the prince, to Jane's blushing consternation. For some reason that stopped after their fight, the one Thor had to break up. Suddenly Frigga was a little more distant in Jane's, romantic affairs, a little more withdrawn. Still motherly, still a worry wart over Jane's frailty as a mortal and pursed her lips each time Jane forgot her social cues. Every thing remained the same minus their talks about boys, men. One time she complained, expecting her mother to banter and smile like they do; instead she gave a polite, political smile and changed the subject. When Jane went back to it, Frigga asked if she was going to go visit her brother that evening. It confounded Jane. Why the sudden change?

Erratic to the point of unreliable, Lady Sif was kind but no womanly mentor. She coached Jane through plenty of things—teaching her how to land precise blows on attackers to knock them senseless, why men were stupid (her mother used the terms "blathering braggarts incapable of survival without we females"), and how to assess jewelry with a dwarf's careful eye. Lady Sif donned only warrior's clothing save for celebrations and feasts. Centuries of acclimating herself into the warrior culture of Asgard made her brittle and defensive on the finer subjects of womanhood. A sad conclusion but the only one Jane came up with after so many failed attempts to find a womanly mentor. Jane never thought herself the poorer for it—so what if men took up most of her life? Gender did not concern her in that way—however, now, needing advice precisely on womanhood, Jane felt her life lacking. It was absurd she had to talk to Mr. Whiskers—he didn't respond to that name in public but showed a warm attachment to it within their private conversation—over sexual advice.

Sex advice from a cat. Not one of her better life choices. Perhaps she should have sought out Thor after all. The sabertooth was writing again.

_You strong female. Seek out strong male. Better the world with your offspring._

Jane really wanted that hard cider now. She threw up her hands, more than resigned to her fate of sexual frustration and sex talks with big cats. Another gala was on the agenda for the evening and certain family members requested—ordered—her presence. Jane made to move but Mr. Whiskers gave her those cute kitten eyes for one last request.

He really did love having his coat brushed and this little mortal made his coat look another century younger. He purred as she petted him with the brush, long, slow strokes from neck to tail. Happy and sated, he gave her one last message:

_ You, Beautiful and Kind. Never settle._

Jane kissed him between the eyes, a small lump in her throat. "Save the best for last, huh?" Visiting the orrery and having an aged sabertooth as a talking companion wasn't so unacceptable a life.

The castle's activity hummed to a quicker pace, one it performed with the grace of a veteran conductor, as food and drink and settings for Odin's feast were arranged and then rearranged by one of the seneschals. Jane wove her way through the great hallways with seasoned skillfulness. Walking through the castle stretched her legs and rest her mind. Many of the hallways were held up by pillars and hulking statues of Aesir long past and no walls gave the spectator an omniscient-like view over the city.

The streets, the tiny specs of people walking, running, cavorting, skipping, living life as it was meant to be. Sad and galling, happy and hopeful, whimsical and surprising—a mixture of things god and bad until a swirly grey mess coated all. The detrimental balanced by the beneficial, immoral next to virtuous.

Balance.

It wasn't a zero sum game, life, and the thought cheered Jane. Whether more or less, the good she felt and experienced was worth it. Her unfulfilled wants and desires paled in comparison of happier memories and happier times to come. She exhaled all her vexations.

Life. Is good.

The mortal smiled and parted from the view, her beloved Asgard, with a lighter heart, ready to face the politics of her father's feast. First, though, she had to get ready. Time to find Markl.

He was sweating and swearing up a storm, yelling, throwing bread and people with force when they didn't quite bend to his will or instructions. Platters and platters of food piled high on silver, gold and copper bronze plates rushed out the door where his eye caught the familiar form of the Midgardian mortal. Bellowing some more instructions and more than a few oaths at waitstaff he thought clumsy or slow, Markl waddled over, his limp more pronounced without the cane. He hung up his apron by the door and used one of the nearby sinks to wash himself as free from flour dust and food splatters as possible. Jane never minded but he liked sending her off clean as possible, minus the inevitable streak or two of flour. They walked the long way around the kitchen, under no circumstances would he risk dirtying Jane's dress because some oaf walks too fast and can't see where they're going, and settle on an old flight of stairs used infrequently, even by servants.

Markl winces as he sits, left leg spasming for a few pulses. Jane hugs him briefly from behind and he chides her none too seriously for it. She sits one step lower, leaning back into him some as his fingers and ivory comb that looks comically feminine and dwarfish in his hands work their way through her hair. He makes a comment about it being longer than he remembers and Jane murmurs back notions about how fast mortals grow.

She's upset about something. He can tell. A blunt question doesn't get him answers but a quip about females does.

"Typical. Men. Men can't solve everything. They don't know everything either. I can't even talk about all my problems with almost everyone I associate with or know!"

_Female woes._ That was a barrel full of Svartalfheim sharks he didn't like to toy with often. However, he was nothing is not a devoted friend and confidant and for that he'd try.

"You wouldn't know unless you talked to me, sugar pie. I have the wisdom of ages within me." He wasn't that much older than Thor but he liked using that phrase on her due to her youth in comparison. Jane grumbled something unkind under her breath, to which Markl made no reply. He continued as if uninterrupted. "We can speak of dresses, the latest fashion," he was mocking her now, she knew it, "I mean did you see Lady Embla's entourage? They couldn't dress themselves proper with all the help of the Nine Realms. And don't get me started on how fat I'm getting. Look at these thighs!" Trying and failing to smother a smile, Jane grinned as he continued bemoaning the fall of fashion civilization and who committed the latest faux pas. His mockery cheered her up until he hit that one unavoidable nerve.

Markl felt her flinch and thereby knew which subject burdened her. You think that after her first rant he would have made the connection. Maybe little Jane was right and men didn't know everything. _Perish the thought._

"Ah, boys. Boys, boys. Yes, boys will be boys. Terribly rude. They belch and stink worse than Freyr's golden boar and not an ounce of good manners or feminist charm between the lot of them," so said the man currently braiding her hair and holding an ivory comb with his pinky raised. He held a dramatic hand to his heart. "I can sympathize, my dear."

Jane snorted her incredulity. "You don't bleed every month last I checked."

"My heart bleeds. It yearns for something as sweet as true love. Is there no one who will love me for my good looks and not my wealth of unbaked bread?" Jane threw one of the bobby pins at him with a smile as Markl laughed. He continued to braid her hair.

She sighed. "I thought I got over this teenage-angst, identity-crisis thing."

"I know, me too. What gives, sugar pie?" Now she did chuck something at him with a little more force. _Cheeky git._ His fingers soothed and smoothed out her hair as he combs, those same fingers dextrous and strong as he kneads and teases out all the tangles. Markl is an oxymoronic entity of opposites. After a teasing episode from boys in the streets—one of the more rare instances in which she refused to run to her brothers for help—Markl sat her down and wove her hair into a braid as finely as he wove song and spiel. The baker tweaked her bangs to gather her focus.

"Truly, my little taste tester, what ails you? This, we both know, is not an identity-crisis or remnant of your teenage years." _Thank Odin._ "The truth?" Jane slumped in on herself, ruining his fine work and Markl made no objection or complaint. He watched and waited, patient. All that calm she had when looking over Asgard mere moments ago faded into an internal skirmish of yes-no-say-it-ain't-so where she wanted to tell her friend and confidant everything but fear sealed her silent. She could talk to a cat over this and not her very good friend. Well, a cat wouldn't rat her out, if only on principle. She mumbled a response, the pathetic excuse in her mind saying that she was only talking to herself, not to Markl, even when she knew how good this Aesir's hearing was. (The man heard bread _rise_ for All-Father's sake. What kind of sound does rising bread make anyway?) The knowledge that he could, did, hear her exploded to the forefront of her mind and Jane sucked in her tongue quick enough Markl thought she swallowed it. By the regret clouding her features, she wanted to if only so that her words would stop getting her into trouble. That seemed all her speech was good for. Troublemaking. Loki would be so proud.

The baker whistled, a little more than impressed at the secrets Jane kept—brotherly ardor and then some—yet stayed otherwise mum. He tilted her back and worked on her hair anew. That he had kitchen duties, the cacophony of the galley muted but not gone, did not register in his careful attention to her. Jane picked at her dress's sleeve, plucking up courage and finding herself empty of it. Her voice came out weak.

"How bad is it?"

"Oh you gave me another few tangles to work out but nothing my winsome hands can't fix. I let no woman say my hands can't get the job done."

"Mar-_kl_." She frowned around one of the cookies he brought, always spoiling her appetite with his treats. Markl didn't mind.

A sideways smile she could see flexed his cheeks, then transformed into something more thoughtful. "Do you not want to feel that way 'bout the prince?"

Jane looked horrified that he would ask, but her reply sounded rehearsed. It was; she repeated the phrase so often enough lately. "Of course not! He's my brother."

"Not blood brother," he lightly countered.

"Brother all the same," Jane said stiffly. Her hands went spastic, clenching and unclenching, wringing one and then the other, and both palms slick with a veneer of skittish sweat. Markl said nothing until he felt the anxiety filter out. Neither said anything for a cookie or two, Markl beginning another plait. There was a slump of sadness to Jane's posture now. "Amorous affections fade after a time." She spoke as much to herself as to him.

A memory glazed her eyes, a memory more recent than Jane cared to admit, which brought up the image of Lady Röskva. Grace and charm rival to the Queen's, witty and intelligent in all the right ways, and if you listened to a particular male few within the court, more than skilled in bed. Inferiority rarely wormed its way into her heart but if Loki wasn't satisfied with Lady Röskva—that best described his casual dismissal of Jane's inquiry about his then-lover—then pursuing a romantic liaison with Loki would bring nothing but mockery. Mockery and the crueler side of Loki Jane had no interest in baiting. Jane looked at her hands and saw their ugly mortality. She told Markl thus, her words carefully chosen yet not careful enough but the quick look of his face she gleamed.

"But," she mollified herself and hopefully him, "siblings, siblings you're stuck with for good. A constant bond time and fickle feelings can't obscure. I like that consistency." The cook didn't stop his entwining of Jane's chestnut locks, weaving until the finished look shone and held firm. The braids tumbled down her back along with parts of her hair he left unbraided. Unable to see behind her, Markl had forgone the blue ribbon she gave him and used a leafy green one he just happened to have on hand. (Pure coincidence that.)

Burns crisscrossed Markl's hands, the decades if not centuries of hard work bore proudly for all to see. He had no shame in being a cook's boy, never had. A small smudge of flour on her exposed neck was visible only up close, a transference from when Jane hugged him. He cocked his head a degree and decided to leave; see if anyone else noticed. Jane leaned fully into him, inhaling his presence as a balm.

He was warm as his ovens, the perfume of spices and baked bread smeared with butter tucked around all his body's nooks and crannies. Closing her eyes, Jane was seven again, sitting in front of those massive brick ovens, washed in waves of fiery warmth every time the bellows exhaled and smelling bread with a hint of char. Those in the back had a tendency to burn. Markl would be at the counter, slapping down dough and a buzzing backbeat of gossip and cutlery kept the silence at bay. When Chef wasn't looking Markl winked at her and snuck her one of his pastries. He was demonstrative to those who liked his cooking, a place she earned after telling her mother—loud and blunt as children wont to do—that she preferred Markl's food over Chef's. Chef became a starker red that had nothing to do with his penchant for imbibing mulled Jotunheim kumiss.

She turned to look at him, really look and him and did so with eyes that wished to say far more than she did.

"Thank you."

Markl smiled, not wincing when he heaved ho to his feet. "Buck up sugar pie. Just 'cause nobody, myself included, has the golden apple of advice for ya, doesn't mean there's no solution. Maybe one will come to you tonight."

Jane gave him a lopsided smile, not really believing him. "Yeah, maybe." He tweaked her bangs again, for affection's sake, sending her off clean as fresh whipped cream minus those two ineluctable streaks of flour, one in her bangs and one on her collarbone.

* * *

Gold and green, Loki donned his more regal outfit for this evenings festivities. No helmet this time, merely slicked back sable dark hair and a neutral frown as he surveyed the party's attendees and found them lacking. Lacking one person specifically. He told her to come as did Mother. Even if she still flouted his words at times, Jane did not disregard their mother.

One of the wealthy merchant class waddled over, oozing out of his robes due to his girth and none of it muscle, and tried to none too subtly persuade him the merits of his granddaughter. Loki Silvertongue he was named and so he proved. The merchant left with the same simper he arrived with, believing his mission fulfilled yet without promises from Loki to visit his female descendent. Loki frowned behind his illusionary mask and walked over to the buffet table to refill his goblet with a stronger mead. His eyes continued to search and found the person he least desired to see this evening.

"Prince Loki," Garikith bowed.

He inclined his head. "Prince Garikith of Alfheim." There was a crackle of tension when their eyes met. Garikith gave him a false smile.

"Have you seen your sister this eventide? I was hoping for a dance."

Loki replied with an insincere curve of his lips. "Alas, I have not. I do not believe my sister is attending tonight's gala. I'll be sure to pass along your regards." Each gave the other a dead stare, evaluating and finding him lacking. Garikith knew Loki would not pass along any message, regards or breath a word of his presence to his sister, not even in derogatory terms. Loki would deny his existence rather than verify it. Grudgingly, he took place besides the other prince and Loki, bound by politics and civility could not ask him to leave. The God of Mischief had to settle for an illusion of deferential body language as he seethed internally. This boy could buckle his plans. Strong arming would be frowned upon (damnation), thus he needed to do what he did best.

Fenrir prowled the hallways from within the shadows, ready to relay information. Loki placed his wolf's presence to the side of his mind, tangible but not concentrated on. The prince of Asgrad assumed a congenial stance.

"I appreciate your concern, Prince of Alfheim, but I fear you deny these other ladies your presence by waiting for my sister who seems unlikely to show. I can introduce you to a fair lady for a dance or two? I would go myself," he bulldozed over any reply Garikith had ready with just enough politeness to not be considered rude by third party observers. Garikith knew better and his heated stare spoke as such. "But, my duty to entertain restrains me. Please, I'd fail as a host if I did not find you a dance partner."

"What a pleasant, dutiful host you are, Prince Loki," his white-gold eyes said other wise, hot with disdain, "however, I desire only one dance partner this evening." _Contemptible pointy-eared bastard._ The silence that followed ate at his nerves and fueled his anger. Everything that sentence implied all but prodded Loki's bestial self into action. From within his mind, Loki felt Fenrir growl at the challenge albeit he quickly became mute and focused on a particular perfume. The trickster grinned, showing teeth.

"I see. Then I will busy myself with the next female to walk through those doors and not I or my dance partner shall bother you the rest of this evening nor you us." It was an invitation laced with no small show of contempt. Garikith raised a delicate white eyebrow, believing Loki's poker face not as sound as centuries past. _Believe what you want, gutless, lickerish cur, so long as you don't sully my castle with your presence in the future._

"Very well," the prince agreed. Loki's grin gained a genuine curve to it yet lost none of its deviousness. He left to go greet his dance partner. She was not a step into the room before Loki held her hand up, kissing the back of it and relishing the potent look of antipathy bordering on out-right hate the prince of Alfheim shot him.

"Good evenfall, Jane."

"Loki!" Her eyes contained a glint of surprise and unease but she smiled up at him nonetheless. "Um, good evening." A light pull of her hand met resistance. Her heart rate sped up. "Loki…?"

"I believe you owe me a bet, dear Jane." She gulped and Loki's eyes flickered down to her throat and back up just as quick. Jane swore his grin grew. "Yes, I believe you do. You owe me what I want."

She didn't want to ask, not while he smiled like that and certainly not after all those nights of little and less sleep. She had enough training from her mother not to lose total composure when accosted so. The smile was wobbly but there. "And that would be?"

"Why your company this evening, of course." She visibly sighed with relief and Loki contained his laughter. This was rather similar wasn't it to the—he counted rapidly—thirteenth time he visited her in the dreams. Seems part of her didn't forget. That was good, very good. "I also believe that I must persuade you the worthiness of the Asgardian waltz. Will you do me the honors?" As if she could say no. She tried nonetheless.

"I really should go greet some of the—" She was going no where near any Alfheim citizens this evening and preferably all evenings in the future.

"Excellent." He washed away her protests. "You will find the Asgardian waltz far superior to your tavern hopping." Next time Jane noted their surroundings Loki had a hand on her hip and moved them to a leisurely meter in time with other dancing couples.

_That guileful ophidian._ Jane had some choice words for him in private. Glaring would have to do. He beamed under her unspoken threat. Three waltzes came and three waltzes went, the pair persisted in being on the dance floor. Well, Loki persisted. Jane had grown tired of pulling to no avail. Unconsciously, he body leaned closer to his own, using his strength to guide her through the steps. Loki did not object; he used to time to observe.

Twenty-one Midgardian years stood next to him, less than sixteen of which he witnessed. Moments in time, like sparks of a flame, they burned more brightly than all the darkness around it. But, all sparks die out in time. Loki would need to get creative to keep her fire going years down the line. It's a good thing Jane enjoyed the taste of cider. He filed away that line of thought to concentrate on the present. A very alluring present.

Definitely more curvaceous, contours the dress highlighted to his delight. It hung off her like sagging starlight, the rolls of silver fabric drooping far down her back to show skin and shifting with the most minute movements. It caught the light and sparkled each breath she took and Loki marveled over the quality of it. Twirling her sent the cascade of maple-colored locks inches high off her back, teasing him with an unfettered view of her back until falling back down again. The tail end of her braid swished under his gaze, the green ribbon flashing bright in contrast to her brown hair. Loki swallowed with supreme effort and the back of his hand flexed wanting nothing more than to bury itself in her mane and hold her close, closer than ever before. That pink tongue of hers darted out, wetting lips he wanted to claim, and then she was nibbling on her lip as she was wont to do in times of stress. Loki controlled his shudder and groan, but in his internal war of discipline against desire the former was losing ground posthaste.

When he dipped his partner, his eyes followed the swell of her breasts and from there to the arch of her neck; Loki murmured compliments too low for her to understand but Jane could read his gaze fluent enough. A tingle of nervousness woke up again, a sensation Jane had difficulty subduing. She sought to focus on anything but her Asgardian dancing partner and latched onto the music.

Court ensembles didn't include the common man's instrument. Rather an entourage of various sized violas and flutes and reed instruments crooned to a lethargic pace compared to the foot-stompers Jane enjoyed. Melodic albeit protracted. Jane wasn't sure how long they remained on the dance floor. Another song kicked in, the notes sighing like a love confession with just a hint of a sashaying beat. This was something a little quicker, something more her speed. But Loki was in control, he was the lead and he would dictate where they went.

Jane realized how close she was to Loki and made to step back. He chased after her. She retreated, not breaking the timing of the song and Loki stepped just as swiftly back into her personal space. The waltz evolved into a tango and Jane was sure he bribed the orchestra because the beat sped up again, almost following their lead. What sort of waltz was this?

Jane no longer held his gaze and looked for an exit. The hand on her hip squeezed. Sights swam into fuzzy unfocused mirages; her eyes saw only Loki and the ground beneath their feet. Her world shrunk, only ready to expand when he dipped, twirled and at Loki's insistence, spiraling her out and back into his embrace. His hand never let her truly go, without fail a leash of sinew and flesh kept her close to him. Skin on skin contact left her feeling agitated and feverish, causing images from her dreams to skip pass her brain, muddling reality with fiction. Jane shook her head, fighting for balance, however, Loki continued to dance with her, keeping her off lopsided, and her feet responded to him with nowhere else to go.

That smear of flour stood out now as she panted and droplets of sweat raced across her skin escorted by inquisitive green eyes. This had to stop. They had to stop. Finally the music did, Loki hugging more than holding her but Jane was too tired to care. She was thirsty and desperately wished to sit and gather her bearings. Whatever Loki was whispering in her ear did little more than send shivers down her spine. Water, he was offering water. Jane nodded eagerly.

He escorted her to a more secluded part of the room, and allowed her to sit as he gathered refreshments. Regulating her breathing, forget her thoughts, took up the focus of her mind and when Loki handed her a glass, asking her to wait, she ignored him and downed more than three-fourths of it before the alcoholic burn kicked in. Jane sputtered, spraying some of the transparent liquid. Loki returned then, a trim eyebrow raised in mock concern.

"Why did you drink mine? I told you to wait as I got your water." He had another clear glass in hand. Neurons flared to life and bells clamored within her head. She just drank a very potent drink while in the vicinity of her brother, the man who currently haunted her dreams in all the good/bad ways.

Shit did not begin to describe the horrible state of affairs in which Jane found herself. She stood up fast, the blood rush and alcohol making her sway. Loki reached out to steady her and Jane pulled away as if burned. She tried to anyway.

"Loki," she slurred, the exercise and her low tolerance making her very susceptible to whatever drink she just quaffed, and so she tried again. "Loki." Passable. "I think, I should call it a night." She nibbled her lip, trying to find the words. Jane missed the look on Loki's face.

"Good night, Loki."

"Jane." His voice was more a rumble than a verbal formation. Loki's light but immovable hand on her bicep kept her from running. She had to tilt her head up to see her brother. He held her gaze and for the next fifteen seconds Jane was very sober and very awake. Loki leaned in and though Jane tilted back, his lips found hers. Shock froze her muscles and a tense paralysis palpitated up and down her spine.

Firm yet yielding, wanting yet restrained, Loki lingered for the feel of her lips under his.

_Sensational._

The primal beast within him howled for more. Loki pulled back, assessing her reaction. She was breathing much faster and at an erratic rate. Her tongue darted out again, Loki's body clenching in response. Jane swallowed and blinked, one hand finding its way to her lips. Finally a deep, deep flush reddened her cheeks and went south, south, way south until it was obscured by the dress. A smug part of him preened at her reaction.

The more rational part of him scrambled to amend his plans. He hadn't meant to do that.


	10. Chapter 10

**I swear I'll fix this chapter later, but for now, let's just move the story along. If you have any suggestions on the romance/wooing part, hit me up. I have no idea what I'm doing. (Nor does Loki as this chapter shows. Or the very least he's doing it badly.)**

**Your reviews make my heart sing like a Disney character; thanks y'all.**

**Hawkz**

* * *

_What Might Have Been: Chapter X_

Damn that stupid bet made years ago. Almost three seasons ago in fact! If not for that memorable night in the mountains looking at stars, Jane would have forgotten the incident. True to form, Loki forgot no debt owed to him. Never again, under no circumstances, not even pain of death, would Jane bet against her brother. Apparently betting with Loki led to him kissing her. She, his sister. Did, did he not see how wrong this was? Was he high off Vanaheim "herbs"? Disastrously drunk? Did Thor hit his head so hard in their last bout that all his screws came loose and went flying into the abyss?

Loki kissed her!

That fact rang loud and clear, repeating and repeating until the red that clad her cheeks was not the blushing virgin kind—it was the really pissed off virgin kind. All those insecurities, the drama, the doubt vanished quick as her snapping temper. Her fingernails pinched into his earlobe, trying in vain to draw blood while the violence of the actions shocked his eyes wide and slowed any bodily response. Jane leveled him with a glare rival to the Queen's and hissed low enough for only him to hear.

"Never do that again, _brother_." Releasing his ear Jane spun in her heels and her hair smacked his chest as she stormed over to the balcony. Anger did nothing to cull her grace and beauty, spine straight and chin held high as befitting a royal Asgardian. Loki gaped at her as she left, his mask in tatters and his thoughts in worse shape. He'd grab at one word, one thought and lost the connecting strands, until it was a torrent of repetition and half-thoughts.

That, she, that, where did that backbone come from? She who in all her dreams leaned into his touch and made the most delightful sounds denied him? That, that wasn't possible!

So this is what rejection feels like. Good thing his anger kept other emotions at bay. _Fine_, he spat in his mind, _you want rough play, you got it little one._

He would find every wall she's built and bring them down with the finesse of a sledge hammer. But first, he had a certain dream to visit tonight. The Aesir side of him growled at the blatant refusal and challenge of his advances; the bestial half kept in secret and darkness grinned at the thrill of the hunt and chase. Oh, it liked this mortal.

Bunching up his muscles, Loki had every mind to join his partner on the balcony but a lasso of calm rationality pulled him back, urging him to think, collect his thoughts. A look of rage snarled below his illusionary politic mien; it did not want to think or ponder. It wanted her back here and damned her opinions otherwise. _Bring her back_, his bestial self growled at him, _violently if necessary._

You are not Thor.

The back of his mind spoke so calmly, with such conviction and warning that Loki's breath got sucker-punched out of him. He wanted to double over from the weight the reflection pulled off his shoulders only to replace with a heaviness in his heart. His musings came quiet and scared after that.

_If he were Thor, would she want him?_

He felt sick entertaining the thought. Salty and sour, much like the taste of tears, stung his mouth. If he dare to eat anything now, it would all taste like rancid meat or rotten spoils, and he would lose his composure. Loki's hand shook and his closed it in a fist least anyone notice the cracks in his tromp l'oeil.

Jane's mental state was no less chaotic, cool evening breeze or no. She ducked behind one of the topiary pots large enough to disguise Thor decked in armor and vermillion cape. From behind the leaves she saw Gar step onto the balcony, his white hair swishing back and forth looking. For her. Jane hugged her knees a little closer. She didn't feel like talking to any one at the moment. Persistent, too, but Garikith was forced to retreat when one of his father's entourage called him over. Jane let out a breath.

If only being alone meant peace.

Her fingers traced her lips, and biting her bottom lip teased her with Loki's taste. Winter and forest. Refreshing cold and pinewood. She dragged her tongue along, tasting him again and flushed scarlet.

There was something very wrong with her.

She was attracted to her brother.

Maybe.

Possibly. (Damned for the blacker pits of Hel, if she was.)

(…and if she wasn't?)

If her heart beat for someone, they would have to—Jane paused, unsure. To what? Be what, do what?

Cherish her love of the stars, cherish her. Challenge her mind. She loved magic, a plus if they were a spell-caster. A certain spell-caster.

_No_, Jane snapped back. Traitorous, wicked thoughts.

A certain spell-caster who weaved wondrous wizardry.

_No_, she begged.

Story teller and spell-caster. He who loved her, not at first, but over time. Time he had, she didn't, but time he gave her. Time, then smiles, laughter, and a secretly delicate heart. He who guards his most cherished persons with his own personal wolf. A wolf that never left Jane's side. Always carting after her (and her after Loki), following her to the orrery, at her side those late, dark nights.

Shutting her eyes proved a mistake. The memories rushed to fill the blindness with color, sight, sound: "Illiterate" Loki telling her how to read runes; bringing her in and out of Dyfflin's tavern; Loki reading in the shade as she and Thor played tag, Loki tripping his brother so Jane can escape; tickling her for painting his room to look like the stars again; getting annoyed at the mess of sketches in his room; yelling at her; almost striking her, but never hitting her, never; apologizing to her, apologizing solely to her; his bark of laughter; the smell of magic and leather and Loki; her missing him, the unbearable heartache at his abrupt departure; his vices, his virtues; dancing in the tavern; dancing in the halls. Loki, the trickster of Asgard, whose those eyes burned as if someone tossed copper in flames, loved her.

Did he? Amorous affection, not familial sentiment? Could he?

Could she? (_Yes_, her heart begged her, _yes, she could_.)

"Oh gods," Jane moaned, tears in her eyes and an ache throbbing all over. She repeated the phrase like a mantra, a pray's chant for protection. "I can't. Can't, can't can't." A part of her heart broke at the admonishing admission. So concerned with building her walls Jane jumped when a minute green snake slithered up her calf and rested on a branch of the topiary.

Only one magician used green snakes as his calling card.

An irrational jolt of fear tingled at the base of her spine and Jane tried to melt into the wall. Loki's snakes didn't scare her anymore—startling her didn't count—not since she was ten, though it wasn't as if Loki didn't try on occasion. Loki would always offer her a present only for it to morph into serpent and spook the living daylights out of her. It cooed at her but Jane did not let its cuteness curtail her glower. It cooed again at her and against her better judgement, Jane lifted her gaze to look at it, really look and focus on it. Its tongue slithered in and out for a few breathes, drinking in her presence. Tipping back its head the snake spits out a seed, holding it just at its lips. With evolutionary beauty and patience, the seed opened, a curl of a green stem that blooms into a stunning multi-petaled flower Jane recognizes as a garden dahlia.

Green. Of course.

It waited, flower still carried on its tongue. She didn't move so the snake came a nudge closer, craning its neck out to her.

_For you._

Jane wiped at the tears she refused to let fall and took the flower. Velvety soft and it smelled crisp and clean, the tingling residue of magic on her fingertips. Another snake was hanging from the potted tree now, a blank note pinched in its fangs. Magic wrote a runic phrase.

He wanted another dance.

Jane scoffed, loudly, and heard a shift of clothing not far. She chose to ignore it. The first serpent coughed up another flower and the runes on the card rearranged themselves.

_Please_?

Loki saying please would tickle her pink on any other day; just not today. Jane turned her back on the snakes now and walked away from the topiary, glaring resolutely at the city. Relentless as their creator, the two snakes wormed their way up to the balcony's railing. Flowers and card notes came in rapid succession of each other.

He promised to be good. He promised to make it up to her. He promised as many nights beneath the stars as she wanted. He promised her a puppy of her own (Jane would never tell him how close she came to caving in to that one.) Promises, promises, promises. Loki was another few shades more visible, most of his body hidden behind a pillar but Jane's peripherals caught a contrite bob to his head when she continued to ignore him.

_Please, Jane._

Miserable and guilty and morose over what he did—that was the Loki here and now. Did he regret his actions? Jane internally scoffed. Loki regretted nothing, never had, never will. She snuck a glance at his direction. What was she hoping for? What did she want?

If only she knew.

Perhaps it was the years and years together that obscured her emotions—brother, friend, companion, confidant, lover? The last one made Jane inhale sharply, then sigh it out. Risks and rewards; pros and cons; dos and don'ts. So few choices leading to so many consequences.

Nights of sensation and passion and star-filled skies. Days of laughter and love and board games and card tricks. What would love—romantic love—change? Change, Jane spat internally. Change was a gamble, a bet, a chance and a dance on a double edged sword. One slip-up, one misstep was all it took to give yourself irreparable damage.

_Please_, her heart begged.

Steel and determination gripped her fiercely. She left behind the snakes and flowers—overflowing and dropping from the balcony now—and stalked bravely over to Loki. She walked with a courage that didn't reach all of her limbs but Jane tucked her nervousness behind a frown. Loki's green eyes followed her path, surprised and more than a little hopeful until he caught her frown.

The unspoken silence between them was thick and heavy. Jane fought to keep her gaze square with Loki's own.

"What do you want, Loki?"

"I'd like to d—"

"I said: What. Do. You. Want. Loki." Loki. Not brother. His mouth twitched into something not a smile, not a frown. His silver tongue did him no good for seconds, stretching into almost a minute. Jane caught sight of that terribly fragile, easily damaged heart her brother kept under lock and key, Loki's voice muffled to a volume loud enough for her ears and hers alone.

"You. Just you. All of you."

Jane swallowed a little and gathered back up her courage. One fist clutching his collar pulled him down, closer to eye level. Her eyes closed while Loki's flew wide open.

Jane kissed him.

There was a tongue courting his bottom lip and it was most definitely not his. Brief, passionate and dominating; that was the kiss Jane bequeathed him and it left him near panting. She pulled back, no longer frowning at him—almost smirking—and her sepia eyes glowed with life.

"Prove it."

She walked out then, leaving him and the gala behind with a seductive tilt to her hips. Not even his illusions could mask the look of utter shock slackening his jaw.

Fandral whistled. "Our God of Lies has his work cut out for him."

"You know I always liked her," Volstagg nodded to himself and the other warriors. "Reminds me of my spitfire wife." The Warriors Three all sat at one of the long tables, drinking mead and Alfheim wine and enjoying a wonderful view of their Midgardian mortal and Asgardian prince. Fandral watched Jane saunter out into the hallways.

Hogun sipped his wine and cautioned his friend, "If you value your eyes and the head they're attached to, I'd keep them on something Loki doesn't covet."

Fandral sighed. "Wearing that dress I'm surprised her brothers didn't blindfold every man at the gala tonight." Sif took that instant to rejoin their group.

"Our Queen has no patience for troglodytes or overprotective bordering on exasperating older brothers."

Volstagg's grin had a smear of goose grease. "He was going to abandon you on the dance floor soon as she entered save for Loki beating him to the punch." Though she assumed an indifferent mien, there was an irritated tension to Lady Sif's shoulders. Thor continued to dance, a different partner each song. Fandral drained his cup and waved over a servant for a refill.

"How long until he notices, you think?" Sif asked.

"When Loki takes her as his consort and Thor doesn't knock." Hogun hummed but did not disagree with Fandral's assessment. Their leader could be woefully dense on these matters.

The rotund warrior chewed on his drumstick bone pensively. "Does our direct-indirect support of Loki translate into saving his skin when Thor does find out?"

No one said anything.

"Brothers fight all the time," Hogun supplied first. The other two jumped in soon after.

"Of course. All the time. It's healthy for their relationship."

"It would be cathartic, for the both of them I imagine."

"And the castle does need some renovations." Sif rolled her eyes as they dissolved into which wings of the castle should be sacrificed come Thor's and Loki's confrontation. Their discussion grew to encompass the castle's courtyard and town square.

* * *

When Jane laid down such a challenge, Loki expected he'd have to prove his romantic mettle; not that Jane would test the mettle of his patience and restraint. Time and time again she needled him and the most recent event left him impatient for night fall, (for Jane to fall asleep more importantly though how she managed to still cut him off before the really good stuff bewildered him). Her most recent transgression was too much to bear. The short version is that Loki loathed and loved summer. The longer version begins with a suggestion by Thor and a lack of foresight on Loki's part.

Thor burst into the hall, Jane laughing as she rode piggy-back style—the thunder god spoiled her so—and met his friends with a bearded grin. Unusually so, Loki lounged in in one of the chairs close to the fire, flipping pages of a grimoire. Still part shadow of the group, he stood apart from the group, distant. That the Warriors Three acted more, courteous, to him was bemusing, just shy of puzzling to him. They were Thor's banner men; blinded by loyalty and Thor's boyish charm, arrogant grace and unfounded conviction he knew best. Progress these past ten years or so did not erase over a thousand years of ingrained deeds. Yet, they offered him more respect than Loki could recall in centuries, if ever.

Loki's eyes flickered to Jane. She was getting spun around by Thor, both laughing, both full of sunshine and smiles, bright personalities and so similar for their difference in race. True siblings. He didn't like that comparison—it implied he was unworthy of Thor, an erroneous opinion—but it was better than implying Jane could be anything other than a sister to Thor. Their playful banter and show of affection proved too bright for him; Loki dropped his gaze back to the book of incantations.

Five twirls too many had Jane flopping to the floor with an oof to the laughter of her brother and Warriors Three. The entire room continued to spin as Thor picked her up, setting her on her feet. She didn't make it one step before toppling again.

"Jocularity aside," Sif gathered their attention albeit with Loki continuing his reading, "why have you called us together Thor?"

"Ah, friends. Brother. Jane and I have been struck by a marvelous idea. It has been centuries for us but Jane hasn't been to Asgard's sea since her childhood days. Tis summer. I think we could all enjoy, what were your words? Fun in the sun?"

The Asgardian male warriors were quick to latch onto the idea, though reticence from Hogun was his natural state of being and the Vanir gave only a grunt. Numerous pairs of eyes focused on his person but Loki did not look up. "Have fun," he waved them away.

"Come brother! How long has it been since we've enjoyed a revelry outside battle? We should have adventures outside war." That alone got Loki to look up from his book and level his brother with an incredulous stare. Thor? God of Thunder whose bloodlust was second to none and saw no greater honor than roaring into battle? That was not the Aesir who stood before him. Prideful, yes. Superiority complex, yes. Fate-given fortune and the undeserved love of his people, yes—all that was still there. Just, less battle hungry and touches of humility. The reason behind this nudging difference needled Loki constantly due to his curious nature. His bloodletting brother did not see "fun in the sun" as a worthy adventure. Not since their youthful years, not since the years Loki looked at his sibling with such emphatic ardor and trust.

Jane walked up to him with a beguiling quirk of her lips. "Please Loki?"

He scowled. "No."

"Fine. I'll ride in Fandral's arms the whole way." His fist found her scarf before she could take one step.

"Your faith in my gentlemanly virtues is touching, trickster." Fandral's spoke flatly.

"I would not let you carry her either, friend," Thor supplied.

"Hey!"

Jane only grinned up at him when he stood, closing his book and sending her an unamused frown. Not funny, Jane.

Pretty funny, Loki.

It only took so long to make it to the beach because Volstagg insisted on a light lunch. The light lunch took up four boxes of food space, two barrels of ale and five servants to carry it all, even with the group riding horseback to the shoreline. Horseback and elk-back anyway. The men wasted no time in stripping to the minimum and Thor launched a challenge to which his three friends readily took up. Loki shifted uneasily to the side. His physique did not garner approval the way Thor's did; no, his garnered ridicule, always ridicule. Thor didn't wait for him to undress and Loki came up sputtering, furious. Fandral was chortling something but Loki had already charged at his brother, tackling him and the two wrestled, throwing insults and taunts and Loki lost clothing piece by piece.

"I leave you two for ten minutes and you're already shirtless and wet?" Jane voice was wickedly amused. Sif stood beside Jane, who wore a charming half smile, and the men fought wandering eyes. Sif had a warrior's figure softened by feminine curves and contours Jane didn't think she'd ever achieve in two mortal lifetimes. She tied her hair up in a queue—grimacing to this day each time she looked herself in the mirror and saw the black curls of hair—and the bathing suit clung on her tighter than a second skin. Jane gave her eldest brother a Cheshire cat grin.

"Sif's eyes are up here, Thor."

He coughed out something about honor and struggled to find his tongue. "Take off the cloak and join us. The water is crisp and cool. You both will find it quite refreshing." Sif took that as a challenge and ran up on of the rock formations to somersault into a dive. All but Loki clapped or whistled their admiration. Loki, as it were, had his attention on another female and all the blood drained from his face and headed south. Thor's throat mimicked his own strangled garble.

Both brothers knew their way around Asgard's bordellos—as well as a number of other red light districts in other Realms—and thus, were no novices when it came to women's clothing. This, this attire Jane (Thor's little sister and Loki's would-be lover) was wearing was not clothing; it was strips of cloth that covered the bare essentials.

Midgardians call it a bikini.

Running through water is physics-wise very difficult. Loki did not let that stop him. She was going to put that cloak back on and never take it until proper clothing could be secured or private accommodations acquired. Jane moved fast for a mortal, slipping under his grasp and leaping into the water off the same rock as Sif, albeit with less flair. Her enthusiastic laugh disclosed her enjoyment. She swam to the group and dashed Loki's hopes and chances to find her suitable swimwear.

She was torturing him. Sadistic, sadistic torture of his psyche. More than once he watch water trail its way from the dip of her neck into other dips and angles down to her stomach—a very nice stomach—and other meridional regions. Loki of Asgard jealous of water. He would take that secret to his grave, among others. She caught him staring and smirked. Loki growled.

Fine. Two could play at that game.

Volstagg called time out for lunch and Loki used that to his advantage. Tried to anyway. Jane was snuggled into Thor's lap, still wearing nothing but that damning swimsuit and Thor huddled protectively over her, daring anyone to look at his sister in any disrespectful way. (Behind his indifferent mask Loki's gaze was very respectful. He admired the curves, admired the light skin made darker by one shade of a tan, admired that long neck that craned back and gave him a pleasant view when she spoke to Thor. Loki ogled at her with nothing but respect.) Jane caught his look, the nonchalant façade, and smirked. Again. Loki ground his teeth and swore retribution.

_Femme fatale_, his eyes told her.

Jane's smirk grew into a smile as she licked at the cream dribbling down her thumb. She was playing this game better than he had foreseen. A number of curses described his feelings at the thought. The bridle on his control was breaking but no hint of agitation came through his posture and his voice struck the question in his off-handed way.

"Jane, have you ever jumped off from the Dragon's Tooth?"

"Brother, do not goad our sister so. Tis not safe." Thor gave him a look of reproach. Loki kept his disinterested focus on Jane.

"I bet you couldn't." As if Jane was making another bet with her brother. Just, no. "Too scary for you. And Midgardians are so fragile." Jane sniffed in a haughty way. "Why not even Thor dares go near those rock formations, let alone jump off them."

"You dare color me a coward?"

"No, just red on occasion. I'll have to rethink that in the future. Maybe blue. You might be able to pull off blue."

Thor surged to his feet, the provocation working its magic. He swore to prove his brother's words falsehoods and rallied his friends to his cause, all of them went over to the Dragon's Tooth.

Only, not all of them went.

The illusions of Jane and Loki turned the corner and two beats later, the caster let the cloaking magic fall. Jane was halfway under him, his hand muffling whatever curses she wished to say. Loki's smile was deviously demonic. Jane glared at him, not able to do much else. Her brothers had strength beyond anything she could achieve.

"Well, that was pathetically easy." He removed his hand on her mouth but kept her pinned to the sand.

"Yes, you can do magic. Hurray. Get off Loki." Jane's last statement was not a request. He grinned like he hadn't heard her, letting his weight sag further down.

"Don't wanna."

Jane rolled her eyes. "This is because I said Thor's a better swimmer, isn't it? He throws me father, too. Maybe it's his biceps…" Loki growled at her. He never liked it when she'd only talk about Thor or worse, compared them. Much as he liked to deny it, brotherly comparisons continued to irk him.

"You know I do not like being cast next to Thor and hear of our differences," Loki said. His eyes told her to change subjects and fast.

"You don't have to get snippy just 'cause you're fatter than he."

"What?" Loki went from angry to incredulous at her words. He, fat?

"Very fat. So fat I can't breathe."

Loki's green eyes scrutinized her, his frown flipping his facial expression looking all too much like a cat who found a bowl full of cream. "If you wanted your breath taken away, you need only ask." Jane's eyes widened in realization, but squirming back didn't get her very far and certainly not far enough.

He didn't ask for permission, he rarely did, but his tongue worked such magic that Jane found she didn't really care the longer he kissed her. The rational side of her shouted warnings and cautionary tales, the phrase playing with fire droning over and over in the back of her mind. Jane grinned into the kiss, fingers drowning themselves in Loki's hair.

Fire tasted good.

She didn't say anything but her fingers brushed reverently over his form and his abs held her gaze for some time. Loki preened at the unspoken praise. She never admired Thor thus, or any other man. Others may mock his for his skinny, lean frame, but not her. Never her. Loki hugged her closer, the acceptance and affection lighting her eyes making him burn.

Allowing her to breath was imperative, forcing Loki to pull back after a fashion, thus, he occupied his lips by trailing kiss from her jaw to her throat. He murmured something against her collarbone and Jane jerked back.

"What do you mean I taste better in reality? Loki?" Though she asked, Jane's brain made the connection real fast and a flush of ire choked her. "It was you? It _was_ you! Loki!" He was the one invading her dreams, not some subconscious desire reaching havoc with her mind. No, the only one reaching havoc on her mind was the Aesir before her. Loki was sure he's never seen his adopted sibling look so angry before. She looked ravishing. When he tried to kiss her again he met resistance. "Loki!"

"Technically, I didn't do anything to you. And if I did, it was nothing you did not fully enjoy." His nose snubbed at the idea that he did anything wrong. Jane's tongue worked to give his a severe verbal rebuke, the likes this side of the Realm has never seen when the four return. Loki sits back far enough—barely—so that Thor can see nothing amiss but his grip on Jane's upper arm is still there, light but firm.

"Hey, there are you two are! You vanished soon as Thor jumped! You missed the whole show." Jane remains mute to Volstagg's comments, but kicks at Loki. His surprise loosens his grip enough for her to stomp over to Thor.

"Jane?" His brow furrowed into concern.

"Hold him back." Like so many times before, his body does as Jane asks—demands—and Loki snarls at him to let go but Thor does not.

"Brother, why is our sister wroth with you?" Confusion, not suspicion, layer his bus eyes and Loki spins a tale of him teasing her with trickery and magic. The usual suspects. Jane whistles, gathering her things, and Kraki departs from the horses, trotting over to her. No one is quite sure what is happening other than another brother-sister confrontation. It is most unusual for Jane to be so angry with the trickster god, though. Most unusual.

She mounts her elk, a furious frown marring her face. "Brother," and now Loki knows he's in big, big trouble, "I'll be sure not to bother you in future evenings with my thoughts. I'll seek another gentleman for my troubles."

Translation: _I'm getting laid before you can seduce me, stupid Loki!_

"Don't you dare Jane!" The whites of his eyes disappear into a green storm of fury but Thor is physically stronger and continues to hold Loki back, asking what happened, what's wrong, but all Loki can process is Jane riding away. His mind taunts him with images of Jane laying with another man and it infuriated him beyond reason. Maybe his physical body would visit this eve and see how she likes that! But by that time it could be too late, by that time she could be in a man's embrace or—He swallows a sour, bitter pill at the thought of what else.

Thor is still demanding what happened between the two and Loki's rage gets the better of him, working a lie furiously so that he may catch up to her. "Dammit Thor! Our sister is sexually charged because Fandral packed the wrong herbs and she ingested tea made from Freyr's herbs!" Freyr. God of fertility. That god. The shock of silence turns deadly when the God of Thunder slowly turns to face his friend, a look of rage as potent as the black blood of the Dark Elves on his face. His grip on Loki loosens just a tick.

"What did you give my sister?" In the sky, the clouds gather and darken. Lightning cracks in a bright flash of white. All the others take one step back.

"No, wait, I swear I didn't! Those herbs are here! Here..in my pocket?" Not there. The swordsman goes pale and curses the deceiver and his penchant for pickpocketing, because he knows he did not slip the mortal anything. Did he? And furthermore, how did Loki even know he carried such herbs? Thor stalks over to him, Loki forgotten. Said Aesir has already hoofed it to his horse and is galloping after her. "Thor, let's use our reasoning. Let's think this through." Because that always worked when the Aesir got overcome by fits of rage compounded by his protectiveness regarding his sister. The other two warriors and Sif take another step back.

They would remember Fandral fondly.


	11. Chapter 11

**Because I'm a horrible person and forgot to shout out to Analise for her review on Chapter 9-Thank you!-since I couldn't respond personally. Along with Zigbabe, Uzuki-chan, Dearyourname12, Preciossa, and my loyal Three Musketeers MrsSwords, Jayjoan, and Nobody's Princess/Stephanie; thanks for the reviews on the previous chapter y'all. Feel free to rage at me for giving you such an ending this chapter, along with whatever scenes I screwed up.**

**The plot thickens! And we get another moment of Thor-brother love. Awww. (Just for you Jayjoan.)**

**Hawkz**

* * *

_What Might Have Been: Chapter XI_

Apprehension made the guards whip to attention, trying hard not to stare at the second prince. A trail of sand and water footprints littered the courtyard when he dismounted but Loki appeared as meticulously well-groomed as he is wont. The guard to the left was not as lucky as his partner. The prince stood before him, his green eyes ablaze and body strung like a violin string pulled to tight. Another notch and he would snap. Both guards bowed stiffly before him.

"Prince Loki, welco—"

"My sister. Where is she?" There was a beat before they answered, Loki's visage darkening each second they delayed.

"In the castle, m'lord." Loki valued efficiency and prompt replies. The left guard straightened further and fought not to look away from the prince's gaze. Loki took another step forward, looking down his nose at the soldier.

"She does not leave until I say so." He would not accept anything but the affirmative and when his partner looked to pose a question, the left guard butted him silent with his spear.

"Yes, sir. I will pass the word along." As the guard valued all his bodily parts intact so he would do just that with speed unseen. _Jane of the Asgard royal family was not to leave the castle._ He sent the note posthaste.

Loki stalked up to his quarters, his fury roiling and boiling on top of his unchecked desires until the Second Prince of Asgard was liable to explode at the lightest prick of a needle.

"I need a place where I can discreetly have a one-night stand…s." Markl's hunk of dough flew from his hands, missing the counter, going splat on the ground where it caused tripping and mayhem. He didn't pay any attention to that, fixating his eyes on the little woman seeking places he knew something a little too well about. Maybe he should have been a little more circumspect about the Asgardian customs he divulged to Jane in her formative years. Markl coughed awkwardly into his knuckles.

"I think royalty has more, er. Tact, tact, how to phrase this…Oh to Helheim with it, don't royalty just fuck each other or those in the courts? And in much more comfortable beds I might add. Silk sheets, too." Tact was not Markl's strong suit.

Jane burrowed her face beneath her hands, mortified she even had to have this conversation with the baker. Mr. Whiskers didn't patronize human establishment so for all his sexual-life advice, he was no good here. That left Markl. Or Thor. Markl would have a significantly less violent reaction than the thunderer. At least Markl was in the secluded part of the kitchen.

"For the nth time, I am _not_ sleeping with my brother," she hissed at him, falling immediately silent when a caretaker came over for a few loaves of bread. Not any more she wasn't any way. The nerve of that man! Seducing her in her dreams, that! That! Was so like him, how did she not see that? Jane shook her head, trying to disengage those thoughts and turned her attention back to the baker. She watched the servant leave, the blush still on her cheeks and swung her gaze back to Markl. The baker tapped his fingers, getting flour all over his face and untrimmed beard.

"Y'sure? I bet he got his nickname for a reason."

"Oh for the love of—Markl, I'm trying to satisfy some very natural urges and throw this unnatural urges _for_ _my_ _brother_ under the rug at the same time. You're suppose to tell me that wanting sex from my brother Loki is a very bad thing."

"Wanting hot, sweaty, very good sex from your brother is not a very bad thing."

"Thank you. Now that that's…wait, what? Oh, but bad sex from my brother is a bad thing?"

"Bad sex is always a bad thing." Markl nodded sagely as if imparting wisdom and fact. "You being mortal ain't a shame. He can be gentle, I'm sure. And if his past lovers speak true, adequate and then some. Plus he does this thing…"

Jane's mouth opened and closed, so many words and oaths available to her if only her oral muscle would move. Her tongue just flapped around to no discernible verbal form. Only one thought made it out: "All-Father above, are you trying to hook me up with Loki? My brother!" He didn't look as sheepish about it as Jane would have hoped. "Oh my—you and Mr. Whiskers are the worst sex-advice consultants this side of the Nine Realms!"

"Sounds like we're the only sex-advice consultants you have."

"Shut up, Markl." She was not happy with these turn of events. Not happy.

"Sugar pie, you ever think you're over-reacting?" He was frightened enough not to look her in the face when he said this, keeping his focus on slapping down dough and adding flour, maybe another egg too. Jane didn't give him the option to look away, her grip on his shoulder digging in and rotating him around to face her. Odin above, Midgardian women could be scary.

"Markl, my brother, Loki, has been invading my mind and getting freaky with me. HOW AM I OVERREACTING?!"

"You're screaming for one thing." Markl was glad fat absorbed more pain than muscle because he doubled over in a grimace when Jane socked his gut. He cursed the female warrior for teaching his little mortal about Aesir pressure points. He'd put needles in her bread, baste her chicken in rancid butter, and serve her Chef's oatmeal. He sucked in a wheezing breath.

"Okay, so you don't get freaky with your brother—what options does that leave you?" Jane looked expectantly at him. "Sugar pie, you know I love you but just what do you think Loki, Valhalla forbid Thor, would do to me if he found out I sent you to the Edgewood Tavern? I'd be-" Dead. He will be dead because of his stupid trap and the light sparkling in his little mortal's eyes currently. He was quick enough to grab ahold of her but not clever enough to keep her. Jane's fingers made quick work of her pelisse, leaving Markl holding only the garment and shouting at her.

The baker felt qualmish. He had a few choices to make, all leading to some form of Ragnarök. He swallowed uneasily. Maybe Loki would never find out it was he who said anything. Maybe Jane wouldn't tell him.

…

He scribbled a fast note and found the servant boy he was looking for. A couple fresh pastries gained the boy's services. "This goes to the second Prince of Asgard within the next twelve heartbeats." The boy mock-saluted him and magicked away in the next blink. Markl sent a telepathic apology to his little mortal but he really appreciated living and wanted that to continue for another three, four thousand years.

Jane was not happy Loki managed to find her quick as he did. Was he spying on her or something? Magical tracking? Jane threw those ideas away, focusing on her anger. She was just lucky he was at the end of the hallway and she at the corner. That gave her just over two breaths to escape. Plenty of time to fish out a ward and slap it to the hand that snagged her wrist. Loki hissed as it burned, scratching at the adhesive to get the incantation off him.

"Jane!"

"Go away before I scream for a guard," was her reply, feet pounding up as much distance as possible. They danced and dogged and dodged each other around the hallways when Frigga and her entourage found them in the sixth level foyer. Loki, disheveled and hair mussed and twisted like someone had pulled on it, used one knee to keep his sister pinned—Jane looking red in the face and spitting muffled, semi-audible curses through a rag—while his hands fastened ropes around her feet and wrists. Everyone was silent save for Jane, the court ladies too stunned at the rumpled appearance of the second prince to work their mouths.

"Loki?" Her son gave her no greeting or explanation, keeping his focus on the task at hand. He double knotted the rope, tested its hold and held her under his arm like a rolled up newspaper. His other hand brushed back some of his hair, the fingers combing it into place.

"Just another brother-sister disagreement, Mother. We're working it out." Jane kicked and tried to take the rag out, only the hasty hand of Loki stopping her from doing so. She tried kicking him again and hollered something that sounded like "MOM!" only muffled and garbled.

Frigga blinked, eyes going from her son's appearance to that of her daughter's and back again. From this distance she saw a pink outline of a hand cupping her son's cheek and the ripped up remains of a ward—many wards—some runes were still legible and read "fire", "Aesir strength" and "distraction" to name a few. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Loki," she began, morals and house rules on her tongue.

"She pulled my hair," was his defense.

"So you hogtie your sister?"

"Technically her feet and hands are bound separately."

"_Loki_." Jane was squirming again, making it difficult not to bruise her and keep ahold of her while her rag was coming precariously loose.

"Mother, I would stay and chat but I believe you have a meeting with the Alfheim delegates. They await your presence one level up. It would not be good manners to keep them waiting so my sister and I will not delay you." His grin poorly hid his intentions but Frigga could do little because one) he magicked away, and two) the elvish delegates were actually waiting for her. As soon as her children disappeared, her court ladies burst into a flurry of whispers and gossip.

The Queen sighed. This was going to explode. Badly. (On the bright side, she really did want grandchildren. They'd be so cute.)

The first thing she did when Loki untied her hands was slap his left cheek. Loki's head cocked to the side by the force of the blow though they both knew it had little effect on him. He drew in a deep breath to clear his mind, admitting to himself that perhaps he deserved that. Loki opened his mouth to speak. The second thing Jane did was slap his right cheek. Arguably, this discussion was not off to a great start.

"What the hell, Loki?" The magician was glad he soundproofed his room centuries ago because this mortal had a powerful set of lungs and was using their full potential at the moment. She cut him off before he could defend his actions. "You cannot keep going primitive Vanir on me, throwing me over your shoulder—tying and gaging me—and carting me off to your cave!"

"I wouldn't have to if you didn't make things difficult," he hissed back. Loki's anger rarely manifested into shouting but his voice carried a measure of steel.

Jane scoffed, her words dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, I'm a terrible person for conducting myself with decorum. Propriety. How overrated. It's better if I just magic myself into someone's dream and try to ravish them again and again and again! But you know what Loki, if you're so frustrated, why don't you go to the court, find a lady and solve your problem and I'll go to Edgewood tavern and solve mine."

He moved so rapidly in front of her and Jane nearly stumbled back had her outrage not dulled her other senses. She was playing hot-potato with her brother, each throwing nasty words and their indignation at one another; it was a matter of time before one of them burned.

"I don't want those frivolous, frumpy women of the court. I want you if only you'd lower your damn walls." His fingers clenched and unclenched, wanting to pull her close, fist his hands in her hair and never let go, but in his current disposition he could very well hurt her and Loki would never risk it. Loki made due with seizing the loose fabric of her garment, keeping her close. Visibly so, Jane tampered her ire and leveled a solid stare into her brother's eyes.

"Well, that's too bad, because you haven't proved it yet."

Loki's face blanked at her refusal then churned into unrepressed vexation. "The Hel I haven't! Each day I have given you my attention and affection and still you goad and spurn me, you vile temptress. Convince me here and now why I should not please our bodies and leave you mind to play catch-up." A vine of panic crawled up from her stomach and into her throat. He wouldn't.

Loki was panting, hard, his nails biting then ripping into the bunched cloth. He battled so hard for lucidness, for objective analysis, for gentleness against the caustic aggression that was in his blood. Some times dormant, some times awake but it was always there, always present, and in the darker hours of the night it spoke to him. Loki shook his head, banishing the thought. Not now. Not today.

Jane's hardened features assuaged a few intensities, but the edge remained. "Physical desire is not enough Loki. It, You have to earn that. You," she was no silver-tongued Asgardian. Jane struggled for apt terms. What she knew in her heart was not so easy to stipulate. "Loki. I want proof, action, on your part that says this won't end by the next season. For all we know it does end, it doesn't last and we part preferably on good terms, but," the words came out in a rush now, gaining a speed like that of verbal vomit. "I, I want hope that we can last. That this will last. If only for more than a little while." She who began so strong ended her speech in a mouse's whispery squeak, eyes downcast and shoulders not as firm or straight as Frigga taught her. The woman before him looked young and unnerved and that is what she was. Young, so young compared to any Aesir and spirited, so spirited compared to any other mortal, they—mortal or Aesir—would never compare.

Loki opened his fist inch by inch until the fabric spilled from his fingers. He used his free hand to cup her face and force her to look at him. "Oh, Jane," he sighed. Words would do him no justice. He showed her.

Sincere, tender, and warm; he kissed her slow, with charm and grace he reserved for the dance floor. With feelings he only reserved for her. His touches in the dreams were often fevered, peckish in nature but not here. It seduced her with suppleness and amorous affections. Jane's knees went weak, her hands grabbing ahold of him for support. He chuckled sultry air onto her face, a face rapidly growing warm and red from his ministrations. Loki found her eyes and his green orbs were luminescent, radiating a love tarnished by nothing so sinful as mere corporeal lust. It was a rare moment where Jane saw an honest Loki, hiding not from her. Jane gave him a wobbly smile.

"You promise?"

He kissed her again.

_Promise._

Three days later, Jane—lounging in the library as she often enjoys, this time with company—looked up from her book to ask her brother a question. "Hey, Thor? I haven't seen Fandral around the castle. How is he?"

The thunderer paused his review of "Historic Battles: Great Wars that Change History", not really taking his eyes off the leather bound edition as he turned a page.

"Alive."

* * *

Loki Liesmith did have to grovel for his trespasses: Trips up to the mountain to look at stars; no magicking away her alcohol; allowing her to dance with other men (just how close Asgard and Alfheim came to waging war is known only to a few); personally serving her cider with cinnamon; and most important, not jealously consuming all her time, leaving nothing for the rest of the family. Loki grumbled—sulked, pouted, suffered paroxysms of denial and ire—but consented. It could have been worse. She could have told Thor.

When she did speak that thought aloud, a wicked, vile smile curved her lips up and Loki—forever he would deny this—felt very , very afraid of that smile and its meaning. Jane sniggered, not exactly promising she wouldn't tell her brother and even that came only after Loki swore a number of oaths, like not magically cheating in chess. (Spoilsport.) And still, for all that, Jane made him continue to woo her. (Minx.) Although she repaid his efforts in kind (and they called _him_ silver tongued).

Behind close doors and alone, bloomed a romance pure and sweet, but before others, life rolled on and with it, princely duties, tricks and magic, scholarship of the stars, sexual conversation with Mr. Whiskers (arguably, he was better than Markl), and afternoons of boardgames.

It was pleasant.

It was satisfying, especially the night Jane snuck into her brother's room and Loki painted a different kind of stars before her eyes and many nights since.

Irrefutable proof that life was good.

Still, Jane did not let the seductions of her brother and the newfound joie de vivre distract her. Her tinkering in the study lead to curious contraptions powered by Thor—technically by Mjolnir, and only after a number of unbridled incidents involving lightning and smoke and bandages and Frigga wearing another hole in the floor as her daughter and a comatose Thor visited the medical wing—her time spent there and at the orrery precious to her.

She didn't delve and live in politics as her family did, Odin would never allow it no matter what the queen said and used her disruption of the economy between realms at age six—technically five—as evidence. She didn't let that stop her in the here and now. When her brothers did wrong, she told them off. Mortal or no, Sif taught her which cranial pressure points lit up stars behind Aesir eyes and Jane had ample practice to get it right. Loki was quicker, much quicker, than his leonine brother but Jane read him like an open book. Her fist cracked against his skull too and the two brother huddled on the floor, holding part of their heads and groaning.

"What in Helheim were you two doing?" Frigga taught her too well as her brothers slunk a smidgen away from the authority of her voice.

"He started it…" they both began, glaring at the other and then wincing under Jane's glare. The Nidavellir ambassador stayed flat against the wall, terrified of this mortal about his height who could cripple Asgardian princes. Midgard bred frighteningly (beautiful) creatures. As if reading his thoughts, the second prince scowled a glare at the dwarf and the ambassador shrunk further into the wall.

May be he would just stay thoughtless and silent.

"Is that why there's a hole in the wall, my study now filled with dust _and_ my most recent device pulverized?" Alright, so Jane didn't care so much for the dwarf diplomat as to how her mechanical, electric success was to be replicated, but it provided a good cover to unleash Helheim fury over her two battle-smitten brothers who just had to get in another fight and just had to punch each other to prove superiority and just had to destroy her lab. If looks could kill. For now, he looks told Loki that he was not going to get some—not any in fact—for a long, long time.

The Liesmith wanted to punch his brother all over again. Harder this time.

Churlish, petulant postures greeted her wrath, Jane tapping her foot in waiting. Their sulks, and a glimmer of guilt, deepened. "Sorry," they both muttered though the unsaid "but it's not my fault" hung heavily in the air. Jane wanted to throw her hands up. Princes!

"This is why neither of you will be crowned king any time soon!" The barb dug deep and Thor winced whereas a dark look passed Loki's face, shielded quickly behind a mask of magic. "Brutality is not how you win arguments."

"But, it's certainly a good way to end them," her brother supplied and Jane shot Loki a glare. He didn't look repentant so Jane changed her focus to her oldest brother. He, at least, had the decency to look sheepish. His defense was that the dwarf insulted his honor—he called him a bad name. As soon as he spoke the words recollection filtered passed Thor's eyes, coating his senses with discomfort and anxiousness. Thor's smile became taunt and small, almost bitter. He looked away, unable to hold his sister's gaze. She hadn't been far. Her study was right there. History came very close to repeating itself and the shame of it and his unchained discomposure bleeding into violent tendencies made his chest feel tight. He swore to her and himself he'd do better yet he continued to fail.

Thor stood to his full height, towering over everyone in the room, especially the dwarf, and to the occupant's surprise, bowed to the guest. "My apologies. I'll see to it that you receive your due courtesies. If you will excuse me, good sir, I must escort my sister out."

The dwarf edged away from the wall, some of his previous contempt coming back to life. "Yes, of course. It is good to see that one of Asgard's princes knows his place." That same black look flickered pst Loki's face however none saw it, the illusionary mask still in place. Thor nodded, escorting Jane out in silence, and leaving Loki behind to deal with the diplomat. He trusted his brother's silver tongue to act as a salve.

Jane gave no hint to past events, even brushing off some of the rubble and dust from his back with a lopsided smile and witty remark, and for that, Thor felt all the guiltier. Truly, he failed as Heir Apparent to the throne. He made to drop her off at another hall but Jane followed him back to his chambers. He went to clean up and Jane stayed, sitting on his bed and legs swinging. It brought him back ten Midgardian years when she'd come and roll around on his bed and beg for a playmate that afternoon.

Thor tried a smile. "You must have quite the thought weighing you down to seek me out even after my earlier bout with Loki."

Jane sighed. "I'm still not happy about that. You better hope Mom can magic my science instrument back to life." Without even meaning to they simultaneously shared a memory of Thor trying to help Jane with her "magic-called-science", using Mjolnir to conduct lightning as she needed a "power source". The end result involved a lot of static electrical shocks, frizzy hair and another explosion in her study. Their defense to Frigga had been thus: "It made sense at the time."

A companionable silence fell between them, the only sounds coming from Thor's washroom and jane playing with his bed sheets. She chewed her lip and took the plunge. "Thor?" She ventured. "If, if I found some one. You know, someone I'm romantically interested in and he in me, how would you take it?"

"I'd break his legs, have the healers heal him and then break them again."

"Thor," Jane groaned, flopping back on the bed.

He came out of the washroom, shirtless, and looked at the mortal he called family. His blue eyes saw more than most give him credit. "It would break Loki's heart to see you taken away. I think it the least I can do to one who harms my brother so."

"You'd break his legs because of Loki?"

"It would also be a good warning to what awaits him should he ever harm you, intentionally or not. What is that Midgardian phrase of yours? Two birds one stone?" He didn't say anything for a couple beats, taking a sitting position opposite of her where he could still see her. His eyes were soft and loving, full of brotherly care.

"Why do you ask, my star?"

She crawled over to hug him, half way in his lap to wrap her arms around his waist. He was warm and open as she remembered. Always her rock. Always her champion.

"You're my brother. It matters what you think." He hummed and petted her tenderly. Oh, how her brother's spoiled her with affection.

"I think," he began at last, "that the man who gets you will never be worthy of you, but so long as he strives to be and to put your happiness first, I think I can be satisfied with breaking just one of his legs."

Jane smiled into his side. "Thanks Thor." A beat of pause. "But you're still in trouble and I still want my study fixed." Thor winced as she pinched him. Getting off the hook never was that easy with her. He teased her fingers open, sliding out of her hold and putting on a new, clean shirt. Alas, there were more diplomats to be greeted and politics to discuss. He frowned at who was coming tomorrow.

"Jane," he dipped into his big brother voice. "You know not to leave you rooms on the morrow? Not even for meals. If you need anything just page one of the servants and whatever you need will be brought to you."

"Thor, Mom and Dad rehashed this with me probably twenty times by now. I _know_." Thor held her gaze until she dropped the sarcastic tones and answered honestly. "I promise I'll stay away from the meetings, okay?"

"And in your chambers."

"What if I want to go to the library, or my study, or the orrery?"

Thor shook his head. "Not tomorrow Jane. Tomorrow you _stay in your room_. No objections." Jane huffed but promised to do so. Really it was for the best. Jotunns, even under terms of peace and diplomatic talks, did not like the Aesir or worse yet, mortals.

"I don't see why you and Loki are attending these talks. Dad's usually hush-hush when it comes to Jotunheim and its citizens."

Thor playfully flicked her forehead. "Being a royal is not all fun and games. Loki and I will be kings in the future—Loki will rule when I am absent—and we cannot show fear to these creatures. It is best if they see Asgard as a place that does not cow before Frost Giants."

Jane frowned, rubbing the spot Thor poked. She knew all about kings and duties, opinions Loki heard from her more than once. "You shouldn't judge an entire race as evil, Thor. You've never even met a Frost Giant."

"Neither have you and yet you judge."

"I reserve judgement and accept the idea that not all of them are bad. There's a difference. You too quick to jump at the chance of battle." The thought brought about a bite of sorrow to her countenance. Her fingers found his sleeve just before they left his chambers. "You'll be okay, right? You and Loki? You won't fight if not necessary?"

"My star, you worry too much. If I fight, I fight to defend Asgard. We'll be fine." Jane did not say anything about his penchant to fight for himself—when it came to his honor he could be as prickly as Loki—often conflating it with the idea of fighting for Asgard and let the thought be. People had flaws. Loki, Thor, her, their mother; no one is perfect. But Thor was strong. The strongest Aesir she knew. Jane hugged him farewell. They'd be fine.

True to her word, Jane stayed in her chambers. It wasn't so bad; she picked up books from the orrery the day previous and was well into her third book on constellations. Fenrir was with Loki. The wolf did not care for the visiting diplomats either and remained close to his master in a show of force and camaraderie; they did not face enemies alone. While Odin did not request his sons' presences for previous Jotunn diplomatic visits, Thor spoke some truths by hinting that Odin sought to encourage Loki's and Thor's involvement in the ruling over the Nine Realms and Asgard and not all of a king's duties were pleasant.

The tremor spooked up her spine, tingling danger and fear at the ends of her nerves. Something, was not right. She promised Thor she wouldn't leave her chambers, but no one said she couldn't open the door, right? Jane got up off her bed and went to her doors. They banged open, parlously close to hacking off her nose and a female servant rushed in.

"M'lady! There you are! Stay here. You'll be safe and the guards will be here shortly." The woman was white-faced and almost out of breath but sighed in a measure of relief to find the mortal, untouched, in her chambers.

"Guards? What—what's going on?" However, Jane did not wait for a reply, going over to the doors. She was not a foot outside her room when five solemn-faced guards marched her back inside. They bade the servant away.

"You are to remain in your chambers under order of the King." He gave no reaction to Jane's protests or questions. Jane did not receive his orders well and after her sixth attempt to leave and find out what was going on, what happened to her family, the head guard ordered her room sealed and guarded. One of the soldiers firmly pushed her back onto the bed and they briskly departed the room.

"Hey, you can't—!" The doors shut, guarded by Aesir soldiers and magically bolted closed, sealing the mortal and her protests inside until a royal Asgardian stipulated otherwise. Jane banged on the door to ill effect, no one able to hear her on the other side.

What was going on?


	12. Chapter 12

**Bow down and worship Nobody's Princess y'all. She got me through writer's block to get his published. Theoretically I was not to update until August. (At this point why do I bother? Saying I'm going to update only to do so days later. [Sighs]) So yes, show our fellow Lokane reader some love. Thanks Stephanie. **

**Good news bad news folks. I passed my exam with adequate colors! Back to more frequent updates. Theoretically. Let's get this show on the road. Cue drama, and...action!**

**Hawkz**

* * *

_What Might Have Been: Chapter XII_

Velvety sleek, coal black and proud as his second son, Slepnir was a mount worthy only to a King. That is why Loki, Second Prince of Asgard bestowed it to his father, King of all the Nine Realms eight centuries ago. Odin knew better. Loki gave him this horse, a truly magnificent horse, because he loved his father and worried for him ever since his previous mount fell in battle nearly taking him to Valhalla. Young as he was, Loki held an intelligence beyond those millenniums older than he, magic unlike other magicians had seen in generations, enough cleverness to outwit a fox or three and a soulful heart known only to kin.

It was the latter that led him to blend magic and the finest stallions to sire a colt of eight legs and black as the gates to Helheim. Loki poured over every scroll on interbreeding magic and life-forces, horse lineage and the histories of the finest mounts, their qualities and characteristics to sire Slepnir. He presented the beast to his father that next season during one of the feasts, one where it was not unusual to give the All-Father gifts and well-wishes for his health. The crowd parted, tittering and whispering rumor and speculation over the grand beast. It snorted and reared in the handler's care, only becoming docile under Loki's cool touch.

No longer a colt; this was a war horse.

Odin stepped down from his throne, his one eye grooming the horse and all it's fine qualities. The horse stared down the king, huffing hot breath at him and dared the Aesir to be a rider worthy of him. The silence dragged on, Odin occupied by examining the stallion, and the crowd's mutterings swelled. Loki's face pinched into dismay and hesitation, his fingers betraying his nerves as they clenched and unclenched in spastic measures. One of Thor's friends from weaponry training, the swordsman, guffawed a callous joke and his son flushed red from anger and embarrassment. Thor's laughter boomed across the room and others joined in the joke.

Gungnir reverberated over the throne room, muzzling their voices and slapping away their unkind smiles; Odin's one eye was fierce and protective.

"This stallion, eight legs tall, black as the gates to Helheim and hot-blooded with the lifeblood of warriors is fit for a King. Tis justifiable that my son, so well versed in magic and savant to subjects outside of battle could create such a majestic beast. This is the greatest honor a son could give a father, that a man could give his King." Odin hugged his boy for all to see. Loki looked more shocked than those in the room but reciprocated Odin's affection when Odin did not immediately release him. Odin clasped him again on the shoulder and went over to stroke the horse's nose. Asking questions and running his hands over the stallions sleek countenance. That night was a feast with most of Asgardian society but that night little existed outside of Odin, father, and Loki, his youngest son.

All-Father, Ruler of the Nine Realms and King to Asgard, sighed as he fed Slepnir another carrot. He had duties today, headache-causing duties involving the Jotunns and he sought a few moments of peace in the stables. Despite his warlike posture, Slepnir had the pacifying effect of a good cup of mead and friendly company. This horse saved his life more times in the passing centuries than his generals could count. His son saved his life more times than he could count by breeding this stallion. Frigga chided him for throwing out his hip that first time, and Thor, after that one battle, joked he should lead their soldiers into battle from now on. Only Loki, distraught and worried over the sight of his father in the medical wing, used his abilities to better Odin's chances of survival after that one battle.

Loki. His son.

Odin grimaced at the coming diplomats—the Frost Giants.

He should have Loki locked away in his chambers as he ordered with Jane, but he couldn't. He couldn't favor Thor over Loki, not his sweet little boy who loved magic and whom Frigga spoiled with extra kisses and hugs. Loki who was always better at wizardry and words than weaponry and war. His little dark-haired heathen who terrorized the servants with snakes and illusions as he aged—which hasn't really changed—and who was a brother, a true brother to his blood-born son. Loki. Loki who changed over the years, fighting more with his brother, acting a little more cruel and vengeful against attacks, verbal and otherwise, to his person. A little darker. His heart a little harder. The fights that expanded from just Thor to himself and on rare, very rare occasion Frigga, his mother. She he apologized to. Not always to he and Thor. What was once a line in the sand cracked into a rift and from a rift into a chasm. Who was Loki now?

The king sat down on a stool, absent-mindedly grooming his mount until the coat shined like a black pearl and still the king brushed. Oh, how he felt his age. His children came late into his life. Not unusual for an Aesir. While long-lived they reproduced infrequently. Not like Midgardians who multiply at a confounding speed. It made for large families, children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Frigga looked upon mortals with more affection than he. Perhaps that is why his wife welcomed her adopted brood so readily. She always wanted more children and Odin was glad she stopped at three, the last being that mortal. Odin's hand stilled and he dropped the brush into a bucket. Slepnir's ear flicked toward, inquisitive eyes following when his rider made no other movement. Odin stared at his stallion but his eyes were far, far away.

Was he missing something? Did Frigga bring this child here for a reason? A divination reason. Frigga skirted the subject when he asked so Odin took her words at face value. She had wanted a daughter and like her husband, found an abandoned, orphaned hatchling and brought it home to call her own. The girl, Jane, was much older than Loki when Odin brought him and her Midgardian mannerisms, speech, and ideas infested her being.

Dad. Daddy.

Mom. Mommy.

Very informal titles for parents. Intimate though. Those words often had a hug or smile attached to them and he remembered the years when Jane left him presents on his pillows when Loki lied and tricked her into thinking he suffered from nightmares. Sweet gestures. A sweet, short life. That is why none of them should get too attached or close to the mortal, he argued; however, his family was not inclined to listen. His youngest son in particular. He found himself a friend in his adopted sister and Odin waged an internal war to separate them or give into the trespasses of his forefathers and extend Aesir life to Jane.

_But is it not that simple!_ his mind raged. Of course they've given the privilege of Aesir lifespans to mortals before. They have, many, many times, over and over again. Thus, Odin knew its liabilities and weaknesses. People change; mortals change even quicker than Aesir, some may call them mercurial if not for their short lives. Thousands upon thousands of years more to live, generations to see birth and live and die while you hardly age. Of course they've given the golden apples to mortals. Of course they have.

And for it, Aesir and mortal greed for more, always more, they suffered for it. Mortals once pure hearted altering like the ticking hand of a clock. Nigh imperceptibly but there, turn your back and they shift a second farther from their core values. Laughter gone false and crackling. Smiles chipped and hollow. Demons seen and unseen behind every blink. More than one penned its repercussions and a poetic turn of phrase passed Odin's lips:

"Desire of fire

Turns to fire of desire

See your sanity slip

With but touch and quip

What once you did control

Twists to madness, rift and row."

Not all met such a fate. Some were strong, their cores solid and steadfast—resilient—to whatever devils plague mortal kind yet flexible enough to adapt to their surroundings as Fate dictates. He had a hard enough heart to put such kind and kin out of that misery. He did not believe his sons did. Soft-hearted they were in these matters. They grew more fond of the girl than Odin thought possible when his wife first introduced her at the breakfast table. His sons complained then and now they fawned over her as an uxorious lover. The royal coiffeurs were paying for more broken tables and broken bones that insulted the royal "non-Princess" in Thor's hearing vicinity. Thor reserved his knuckles for his own honor previous to these past two and twenty seasons, which now broke jaws for his sister's honor more than his own. Loki, too, assumed a defensive crouch, fingers dagger ready, for the fool who acted disrespectfully. The image of seeing Loki and Jane in one of their afternoon boardgames clenched his heart. Laughter, smirks and smiles, clever tricks and usurping licks, new game for new ideas, and Loki. Loki looking every bit the happier child Odin and Frigga and Thor knew him to be centuries past. Before society dictated cruelties for what he is and what he isn't, before changes in Thor and Loki drew them apart, before, before, before everything. Before change and time took Odin's son far away and then change and time and one little mortal brought him back.

But, no. It could not be.

He would speak to Loki after these Jotunns leave and they would mend their rifts, Odin, Loki, and Thor, and they would be strong. His sons would mend their ways—they have been, Odin saw it—and they would learn that Jane, little sweet Jane, was not here to stay. Not forever. Her time would come and they would grieve and they would live on. As always. As before. As it will be, always would be. It was best for his sons, best for the realm, not to indulge another mortal. Besides, Frigga could adopt another if so inclined.

Odin heaved to his feet. He had guests to greet.

Donning his more ceremonial robes, he resembled the idea of a king, the kind woven into tapestries and the kind of king the imagination fabricates with which to dazzle its audience: A cape of stormy grey; scepter in hand as proof of his right to rule; a posture and bearings of nature and nurture no usurping thief could emulate; battle armor shinning dully—proudly—as one with age and tales of victory hammered into its links. For he was not puppet king, no scholastic king. He, Odin, was a gladiatorial sovereign and he shied not at the blood on his hands nor the corses, the many corses of friend and foe, now cold and then carrion to vindicate if not validate his reign. Jotunn opprobriums were the stories to frighten children, not kings. Odin feared not the Jotunn emissaries.

He strode into the throne room, his gait purposeful and determined. His sons inclined in a formal bow. He would always be their father; for now though he was their king. Thor's red cape pulled people into his orbit, servants gravitating to the eldest to offer drink and their respects after the king yet always before his younger brother. On the surface, this was the hierarchy of age, Thor was the eldest and therefore next in line to the throne; below that surface was back room politics and bias. It was easy to love Thor; Odin wished his second son would not make it as difficult for others to love him. He tolerated the mortal, what kept him from expanding his heart as his brother does?

Thor affected an affable stance, open and willing to confrontation. How he still courted the thrill of battle, welcoming the bloodlust, and a mere mortal and one unfortunate series of events did not merit change. Time and kingship would temper him. His youngest son wore a political mask rival to his own but his posture belied the wariness thrumming in his veins. Always the cautious. Loki's mind was capable of layered schemes and layers of deception but also for the greater good of family and the more personal satisfaction that was his mischief. The jade green cape of Loki's threatened to consume his lean frame. He was always using the shadows and the dark to his advantage. Both sons—and they were both his sons—stood ready, defensive in open and subtle ways to defend Asgard, him, their father. Artfully, Loki inched closer and the metal of his daggers caught the light, not far from his quick hands and if not for knowing better, Odin would believe his youngest calm and collected, at ease.

Loki would make a good king. Raising him and seeing all that potential, the sheer intellect boundless in its imagination confirmed Odin's prophecies—Loki would be king, a great king.

Frigga argued otherwise. There would be no throne for Loki outside of Asgard's.

Odin disagreed.

A cordial king on Jotunheim's throne would offer peace between the realms, perhaps bridge the gap between Asgard and Jotunheim.

Displeased, Frigga called him blind. Her love blinded her. He, too, loved Loki. But the possibilities… Odin looked to Loki who kept his gaze on the unopened doors. Thor made a sniggering remark about brutish, barbaric Frost Giants and Loki smirked. Odin kept his politic face in check. Not yet. The time was not right. He would give Frigga more time with her youngest son. And his. His wonderful second son.

He and his second son fought more than usual. Thor was brash and head strong, a warrior in every fiber of his being. Loki was skilled in the martial arts, though he was not naturally gifted so, and his true abilities lied else where. Diplomacy, intellect, cleverness—he was an advisor that would make a good king great and a great king historic. But would Loki accept living perpetually in second place. Did he have ambitions? Did he crave power and a throne? No matter how much they talked, Odin did not know. He knew less and less of his younger son as the seasons went by and as a king, this liability unnerved him. As a father, this distance worried him. Frigga continued to step in where he feared to tread and the bond between his adopted son and wife grew only stronger. With Thor, their relationship was rocky; it had been for almost a millennia, perhaps more than half of one. And then the mortal. Odin waved those thoughts away. She would not be in this realm long and his family would grieve but get over it in time. He still grumbled to Frigga about it and more than once suffered exile from her chambers for their disagreeing perspectives on the mortal. He did not hate Jane. She was lovely and loving for a mortal. But their lives were so ephemeral; what good would come from focusing on them?

Maybe, maybe Loki need not be a king. Advisor to the king. Advisor to Thor. He was no fool. He read the hints Frigga laid before him. Keep Loki here. Mend the bond between brothers and have them rule the Nine Realms together—Thor's might and Loki's diplomacy. Vices and virtues combined they made a fine king. Separately led to trouble. But Thor would be a good king. Just and fair and a warrior king, like his father. Thor, his first born, true born. Aided by his brother, his true brother. But aided as King to King or advisor to the king? So few choices, so many consequences. The choice could be made after the mortal's passing. Things would quiet down by then and his family able to concentrate of Asgard and ruling the realms. Contemplation of his family must be set aside for later. The here and now required the King of Asgard.

Odin struck Gungnir, signaling entry to the visitors and the grand doors edged open as ominously as the giants who waited behind them. Cold tickled his beard and hoarfrost crystalized under their feet, unmelting even as they walked away. The well-disciplined footmen gave no reaction to the emissaries though their eyes stayed alert and watchful. Blue skin jagged with warts and ridges they resembled the inhospitable lands they called their own. Supercillious crimson red eyes mocked the throne room and its inhabitants, toeing the line of disrespect but not crossing it. Thor growled low in his throat, however, a subtle motion from his brother stopped his hand from reaching for the hammer fastened to his hip. One of the giants flexed his shoulder, rolling it at an obtuse angle and muttered something in Jotunn speech about a snake bite and pain and one of his companions muttered something back in that harsh tongue of theirs. The low talking stopped when they were paces away from the throne's stairs.

Odin saw them enter his court but did not rise from his throne. Jotunns received courtesies from Asgard, yet they too courted the grey area between respect and disrespect, never quite bleeding into the latter. Respect would be a long time in coming. One of the diplomats sneered at the backhanded manner but Odin did not move. It would take more than a sneer to goad him into action. Frigga wished to be part of the diplomatic process but her husband, her king, ordered her back to her chambers and the guard doubled. He would not risk his queen for anything, least of all these Frost Giants. Right and left stood his sons, first born Thor and second born Loki. Odin did not let his gaze linger on the latter, not in front of them. He took a risk by having him so close but it would be an offense to have only Thor present and Loki made his opinion known on the matter. Odin took in a slow breath. Was it too late to send Loki to his chambers?

The announcer completed reading the Frost Giants' request and Odin bade him out. Only footmen, the Jotunns and the royal Asgard males remained. Time for business.

"You speak on behalf of Laufey, son of Gauldi?"

Red, red eyes serpented from Asgardian to Asgardian, no hint of emotion showed. The giant nodded. "Aye. I speak for Laufey in his absence." He gave a mock bow, one repeated by his fellow companions. "Greetings, All-Father, Ruler of the Nine Realms and King of Asgard. It is an honor." He spoke only words. None of the Jotunns genuflected.

"You come with intention to foster Jotunheim and Asgrad ties via the presence of Jotunn merchants in Asgard. State your case, son of Gauldi." Odin's words cut across the throne room, commanding and cold and neutral. These were not delegates from Vanaheim; congeniality would not be reciprocated by either side. Son of Gauldi spoke, blunt and factual. Throughout his speech that same Frost Giant would twitch and turn in random intervals, rotating his shoulder or closing his eyes for longer than the standard blink. On rare occasions he muttered, face pinched in a grimace, which is not unusual a face to make when Aesir and Jotunns interacted. Odin kept his focus on the speaker.

Odin leaned back into his throne, the courtesies ready on his lips as a well-rehearsed speech. He did not get to make them.

Screams, low pitched yet they rung fiercely in his ears, disrupting his equilibrium. Thor and Loki were likewise unsteady, holding their ears. Black eyes, not Jotunn red, caged the giants sense of civility and common sense for it flew into a rage, speaking too fast for even the All-Tongue to decipher and it's voice rose in pitch until it whirled like a rewinding cassette. Its companions fought to get their comrade under control, asking what was wrong, to calm down, dammit all, not here, not here, and then they were thrown off in a great show of force. The Frost Giant leapt at the Asgard's king.

Green clouded Odin's vision. A great big cloud of silky, shadowy green. Loki.

"No!" cried the king.

The Frost Giant struck and Thor's bellowing cry of terror echoed worse than the Jotunn's previous scream. He retaliated by launching himself at the Jotunn in his way, fighting to come to his brother's aid. The Jotunn fought back and now it was chaos, footmen springing to action, blasting horns and summoning reserves and putting the castle on lockdown. Odin forced himself to his feet.

His son!

The glamour rippled, showing the blue skin beneath and a flash of red, red eyes looked back at the Frost Giant. The black eyes faded and confused red drifted from his hand to the unharmed Aesir before him. Ice crystals spiked out around the second prince and while no harm was visible on his person, Loki trembled. The Frost Giant made to touch him again and Loki flinched violently back. Odin waved Gungnir to terrible effect, slicing his belly open and spilling his organs out in a black-bloodied mess. He stood protectively in front of his son and called for a staying of arms. Seiðr pressed down on all the beings in the room forcing them to capitulate. Odin's one eye glowed ferociously.

"I open my home to you and this is my repayment. I will not stand for this base violence against my family. Uncourted aggression against Asgard will not go unpunished. Son of Gauldi you shame Jotunheim with your actions and for it I will see just recompense!" Gungnir worked effectively, Odin would not hear their pleas and smoked, charred flesh perfumed the throne room. He ordered the nearest gold adorned soldier to find any remaining Jotunns in the city, potential spies and enemies to the crown, to send the wounded to the medical wing and double the guards in the castle, and be on lock down until his relieving command. Thor was bloodied and covered in blood but suffering from no serious injuries. Odin walked over to his youngest.

Loki continued to tremble, looking at his hands in disbelief and denial. He knew what he saw. He was too smart not to know.

"Loki," Odin spoke but Loki gave no reply. "My son," he tried again and Loki hissed his rejection.

"Am I cursed?" he rasped.

Odin felt the cracks in his son's armor, the crumbling of walls and belief and no small measure of sanity. "Not here Loki. Not here." The boy shied form his outstretched hand and would not look at Thor as he obeyed Odin's command to enter a side room to the throne. Odin shut the door behind him. The room was poorly lit but it would not matter, the glamour was fading fast, dissipating with the rising swell of Loki's anger until ruby red eyes haunted the shadows. Frost Giant eyes see well, very well in the darkness; they had to being on such a dark, cold planet and Loki's red eyes looked down to find his skin—ugly blue and ridged like the monsters in children's books—leering up at him.

"What am I?" But he knew. He always knew the answers.

"You are my son."

Loki's face bordered on hatred. "Do not spoon feed me that lie as you clearly have these past few millennia!" Thorns of ice crunched under his fingernails and Loki jumped at the feel. Powers dormant and unknown responding to his emotions and for a magician well-versed in discipline and illusion Loki had no way to keep the despair and flood of emotions—rage, hate, sorrow and confusion at the forefront but more, too many more washed over him—from revealing all he wished to conceal. He tried nonetheless. "Why—how did you find me? What, who am I?"

"Not here Loki. We will talk after these events have been sorted and—"

Loki would have none of it. "Did you kidnap me? Was I a ransom to be paid, a tribute, blood for blood?" Through it all his voice was controlled, angry but stable. Odin did not wish for this discussion, not now, not here, but he could not put it off any longer.

"You were abandoned," he said at last and his voice mellow, almost afraid. "I found you in one of their temples. Left to die because you were small, sickly, even if you were Laufey's son. Frost Giants treasure strength and weed out the sick through effective, usually violent means."

"So you took me as what? A way to right all the Frost Giants slain by your hand? To get revenge on their king via personal means? It was not enough to take the casket and slay thousands of their kin you needed amusement, a barbaric trinket to seduce with lies and falsehoods of what never could be? To offer me things I may never call my own?"

"No. No, Loki. I did not take you for such reasons." His son was becoming just shy of hysterical, leaning far over the edge yet not quite falling into that abyss.

"No!" he snarled back. "You took me for a purpose. What was it?" Silence met his inquiry. Loki's face, the glamor back and his green eyes stormy and wet struggled on his face to bring his emotions to heel as Odin continued not to reply. "TELL ME!" Odin did not deny him. Not here, not now.

"Through you, there were hopes for a more permanent peace between Jotunheim and Asgard. Through you, a rightful heir to the Jotunheim throne, we had a chance to bridge our realms and go beyond our battle scarred histories." _A puppet king_, his words all but said. Loki was trembling again, breathing fast through his nose. "But those plans no longer matter."

Loki heard them differently: _You, Loki, no longer matter._

Odin talked on. "You are my son; I wished only to protect you."

Loki's laughter was razored with incredulity and hysteria. "Protect me from what? The truth? That I'm, I, I, I am the monster parents use to frighten their children at night? That I never was good enough? Was never truly part of this family? That I am everything hideous and contemptuous, everything that Aesir disdain?"

"You twist my words, Loki." His back slouched and the king felt his age. Felt tired and in need to sleep.

"It all makes sense now," he did not hear his father, his not-father. "Why you favored Thor, why everyone favored Thor, because all your pretty, petty lies could not disguise the truth—a Frost Giant cannot sit upon the Asgardian throne! No matter how much you claimed to love me, falsehoods and fabrications all, you never planned to prove it. You thought you could just speak words, meaningless, groundless words that you would never have to back." Odin straightened out of his slouch.

"We did not raise you out of a black heart's cruelty! You are my son. Frigga's son. Brother to Thor and brother to Jane. Your blood changes nothing." Loki's mouth audibly clicked shut and the born Frost Giant turned Asgardian hunched in on himself. His eyes looked far away, thoughts on things other than Odin. His hands flexed, draining of blood and color when he fisted them, his grip harsh and unforgiving. His inhales and exhales gave oxygen to his brain yet his lungs and throat continued to burn as his rasping breath indicated. Loki fled from the antechamber and ignored Odin's cries that bounded after him. What little light the open door provided was quickly eaten by the darkness.

Alone, the king leaned against the wall, sliding down to the floor. He rubbed his brow and felt the sting of sorrow and tears. _What has he done?_ He was a king before a father. Life did not allow him the luxury to regularly prioritize the latter over the former. Yet he did, didn't he, by adopting a Frost Giant and calling the boy his own? Stitching the babe and then the boy into the fabric of his family until his own blood borne son would view him no differently, nor he or Frigga, truth of birth known or not. Odin did not grant that to any one, certainly not the mortal Jane, winsome as she was.

Loki was, would always be his son.

But, would Odin, from here on out, be Loki's father as according to Loki?

Odin closed his eyes and felt the pull of darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

**BIG edit in the last scene, took one out and wrote a new one. Didn't see this ending coming but it came. Posted 6/22, so reread if you read this chapter previous to that date. And yes, this needs work. Lemme know what sticks out like a bad rusty nail and I'll get onto fixing it.**

**Hawkz**

* * *

_What Might Have Been: Chapter XIII_

_Needle down, pull through, tauten thread, double check, needle up, pull through, tauten thread, double check, repeat. Tie knot, double knot, snip. Switch to blue thread. _Frigga could not afford other thoughts. Steadying her hands was easy, it came with habit and the thousands of years of weaving. Each of her children had a handwoven quilt in their colors made by their mother. Loki was green and silver, Thor silver and red and Jane… Here Frigga smiled. She knitted the quilts when her boys were babes and had chosen the colors for them. Jane, capable of speech and stubborn opinions, told Frigga what colors she wanted:

Green and gold.

Silver was the color of the royal family, thus it could always be seen on their person sometimes in small, subtle ways. A bit of jewelry, a shine of careful stitching so that the metallic fabric caught the light, a blatant sash, a head piece or glittering armor. Jane didn't understand the political significance of it and while Odin did, they both agreed on the matter. No silver. Jane wanted a green and gold quilt. As what mothers and wives do, she ignored both of them. Jane got a green and gold quilt with a silver wolves loping along the borders in celtic knots. It was yet another thing Odin and Frigga disagreed on.

_Stubborn old man_, Frigga thought as she wove.

In the next room over the voices escalated into shouts again, vicious and petulant and seething rage. Thor and Odin would be red in the face, snarling at each other and demanding the other see reason, their reason. Neither was making any progress for the past three days.

Three days of Loki shut away in his quarters, denying all visitors—herself, Odin, Thor, the servants—and responding savagely when any of them dare breech his barriers. Thor was the bravest, foolish to try as Frigga stood outside wringing her hands and straining to hear. Initially, the words were too subdued to distinguish but then the cracked whip sound of magic stung the door, wood splintering and Loki was shouting, Thor shouting back while a magical barrier kept her out. She could force her way in, use seiðr to force them into submission. But that was not her way, certainly not with her children. Instead she called to her boys, begged for entry and had to make do with Thor walking stiff and pale from Loki's chambers, muttering darkly yet sadly under his breath. He gave no indication to his mother's presence as he marched out of the hallway nor did Loki acknowledge her beyond a caustic glare and flinch when he thought she tried to touch him. The doors to his quarters slammed with finality. Her magical projection fizzled away.

The castle remained in lockdown, servants restricted to hidden passages between rooms that led to the kitchens and workplaces, Frigga to her quarters and Jane to hers. Frigga gleamed enough to deduce how the Jotunnheim talks went—poorly—but this was unheard of. And then Odin told her Loki knew.

He knew.

Frigga's heart broke. _My boy._ She should be with him, she should be there to answer questions and assuage his fears and doubts. She should be there to be his mother as he would always be her son. Odin, her king, forbade it. Frigga called him a fool and he, one eye fierce, denied the title. He was no fool; he was a king! And as a king he would protect his own until this potential Frost Giant threat was put to rest.

Einherjar, the golden-clad soldiers worthy enough to protect and defend the castle, lined the hallways and stood sentry. Under no order but the king's would they allow her out of her chambers. Odin put them to good use. They round up the Frost Giants Odin did not slay and proceeded to acquire information from them—How long had they planned to attack the realm? Did they bring reinforcements? Where were the reinforcements?—but Heimdall warned of other Jotunns asking where their brethren were and Laufey, King of Jotunheim had questions. Tensions were building and knives unsheathed; the air weighted down with wary bloodlust and want of revenge on both sides. The soldiers claimed to see what happened in the throne room. Possessed or mad, a Frost Giant reached to attack their king; second prince of Asgard leapt to defend and the Jotunn cursed him with a spell; down went the second prince of Asgard, confined to his quarters and battling an enchantment threatening his sanity.

How close they were to the truth and yet so far.

Asgardians rallied around Loki's name—blood for blood, they demanded; retribution for this slight—and Odin juggled an ireful populace and disgruntled family. Odin had not gone to visit Loki since the God of Mischief and Lies secluded himself to his quarters. Frigga could not explain his thoughts. Deviltry took root in his mind, deafening his ears to the pleas of his family. And still Thor tried.

_None of them were reaching Loki. Release Jane and Mother from their confinement. At least let their sister talk with Loki; she was closest to his heart, next to mother. _Thor begged, humbling himself before his father and King for his brother. He saw the blue skin, he looked into those red eyes. He saw; he knew.

Loki was his brother; this, too, he knew. Played together, fought together, raised together—he had a brother and Odin a son and Jane a brother and those memories and emotions meant more than blood could give or take away. _Please, father. _Odin's refusal was unyielding. The shouting matches resumed and Frigga continued to stitch.

There was trouble in the House of Odin and she knew not how to fix it.

* * *

Thor pushed past the guards, his face goading them to deny him. He could use an excuse to relieve the tension knotting his shoulders and the Einherjar would be a good match. They were wise enough to let him pass or Odin's commands allowed him to do so. Thor had never been so wroth with his father. Neither had he ever doubted the man he also called king to such a degree. Odin was not doing right by his brother. He and Odin alone saw the change for what it truly was, the rest of the Einherjar's views obstructed by the thick bulk of the Frost Giant. Visiting his brother confirmed it.

The memory ached like a nasty bruise, stinging as if poked when he revisited it. His poorly chosen words, Loki's look of despair washed out by rage, regret and remorse until Loki prodded him with a retort, Thor replying in kind, and then shouting on both sides. The Heir Apparent rubbed his hands over his eyes, finding support against one of the pillars and deflated in a sigh.

Could he do nothing right?

Enervated lines carved into his face, the lack of sleep and restless thoughts hollowing his features, but Thor shouldered past them. He had a mission to do and just because he lacked the wit of his brother, un-brother yet family all the same, doesn't mean Thor could not be cunning given the right circumstances. These happened to be the right, necessary circumstances.

Gruff and grouchy, an older guard with a peppered mustache and aged lines grunted and moved to block the prince. "No entry under orders of the King." Thor did not immediately reach for Mjolnir.

"I will speak to my sister of important family matters and you will not deny me. Now move." The guard's back stiffened treasonously and Thor growled, hand slipping to his hip.

"Under orders of the King—" The guard's jaw was in no shape to finish the statement and Thor stepped over the crumpled form with cavalier unconcern. Clearly the younger guard was wiser for he stepped out of the prince's way and Thor opened the door to his sister's chamber.

"Thor?" She was halfway over the balcony's railing and precariously close to falling and breaking her neck. Squawking in a most undignified, unprincely manner, the thunderer rushed over, grabbing the scruff of her neck and hauled Jane back into the room. Heart rate slowing now that she was no longer in danger, Thor saw that she had shredded her sheets to make a rope—a thready, unstable rope—and had tied it to one of her bed posts. He admonished her with a frown. Jane defensively crossed her arms over her chest, replying to his frown in kind. "Like I was going to sit here and wait. Besides, I don't run fast enough to get by the guards, even with head-starts." Her tone told him she tried. Often.

"Do I want to know how one gets a head start on the finest warriors in the realm?" The smile told him, no he did not. Jane's smile quickly slid back to an uncertain line.

"Thor? What is going on?" Another sigh bloated his lungs and reluctantly, Thor released it.

"Sit down, Jane. We have much to discuss." He had to force Jane to sit again when he listed the events of the talks as he knew them and her eyes stayed troubled as he relayed Odin's orders to lock down the castle. Both agreed their father was acting strangely if not irrationally. Heimdall would know if more Frost Giants were in this realm yet the All-Father continued his manhunt and divided his family. Of Loki's Frost Giant blood Thor remained mute. It was not his place to tell, or rather he feared telling her, and preferred leaving the decision to Loki. He did, however, let it slip that Loki was adopted.

Jane took a deep breath and got to her feet. "Well?" she cocked an expectant eyebrow. "Let's go."

"Go?"

"You did not just come all this way to tell me of family drama and if that's all you intended then too bad. We're going to see Loki and talk emotional sense into him. Honestly, he's being such a baby."

"No, you don't understand—"

"Really? I don't understand what it's like being adopted?"

Thor ground his teeth. She was Loki's shadow alright; soaking up all his bad habits, sharp tongue included. "You cannot leave by the King's command. It is treason."

"Well, Dad's being a big baby too. There are no other Frost Giants here. Heimdall would see them if they were. He's just taking his anger out on us. Not like it's the first time he's been unfairly wroth." She moved about matter-of-factly, putting on boots, a green scarf and common worker attire. Thor had not moved and Jane finally stopped to look at him. Nervous knuckles rapped against his knee, not far from Mjolnir. "Siblings stick together, Thor." His lips parted to tell her Loki was a Frost Giant and therefore not her brother but he closed them. Loki never had been her brother, nor he hers, so what did Loki's Jotunn blood change? Nothing, Jane's heart told him. Nothing would ever change the meaning of these past score of seasons; Jane wouldn't let it. He let a small smile touch his lips.

Mortal, Midgardian Jane stronger than her two princely Aesir—Frost Giant—brothers; perhaps he should stop underestimating others different than he. Jane, Jane and Loki, had a habit of constantly proving him wrong in all the right ways.

"I'll be grounded for the next century and you the rest of you little life." It was a joke, a bad one, but Jane's grin held honest amusement.

"Good thing we both know how to slip past guards then, huh?" Thor grunted his agreement, Mjolnir's weight solid in his palm.

"Indeed. Now: Balcony or doors?"

* * *

Fenrir felt the blow buckle his spine and swallowed the yelp it induced. Master's eyes held scorching hate and went back to verbal lashings. "You knew as well didn't you? The truth under this skin, the monster playing pretend. You knew! And you never told me!" The magic cracked as a whip and Fenrir dodged the blow. He whined in the back of his throat, crawling on his belly to his master but the man hissed at him and struck again, forcing his wolf back.

"An Aesir raising a Jotunn hound, a wonder my father allowed it. Wouldn't want to give away his secrets, let his plans fall to ruin. Oh no, supposedly," a hysterical laugh chortled out, "supposedly he let me keep you out of the kindness of his heart. The wolf I found in Jotunheim, injured and alone and abandoned. What? Did he dare think like father like son?" Another magical strike, and in his poorly controlled state the blue skin bled through with his blood-borne powers and ice encased part of the marble floor. Loki looked down at his hands. These dormant powers of his grew stronger, from mere hoarfrost to chunks of burning dry ice that damaged his chambers in large sweeping motions. Other instances of his poor control and volatile emotions getting the better of him.

Doggedly, Fenrir tried to reach his master again. He swung between moments of oppressive muteness and loud bouts of violence and tirades. Today was one of the latter. The ice nipped at Fenrir's paws but the wolf paid no mind. It was as Master said; he was a Jotunn-bred wolf, the cold did not frighten him. Thus, once more, he walked over to where his master was. Loki struck him and this time Fenrir did yelp. A look of regret passed over his face—it always did when his anger got the better of him—and Loki's feelings went from outrage to solicitude as his wolf hobbled on three legs, his forepaw dripping blood.

Loki's hands were hesitant but gentle and Fenrir did not shy from the approach of his master. "Oh, Fenrir, my boy, what have I done?"

Warm and wet Fenrir licked at Loki wherever he could and sunk his head into Loki's belly, sighing contently. This was Master, this was the man—Aesir, Frost Giant, whatever title these people give themselves, Fenrir had only one for him: Master Loki—this was the being who raised him, loved him and Fenrir would be loyal to him until the day he died. Therefore, Fenrir would forgive his master his moments of anger and sorrow. Perfection was an idea, not a reality, and creatures had their flaws. The silver wolf hummed in gratification when Loki's magic thrummed to life, healing the cuts and lesions from his breakdown. Fenrir felt tears drip on his muzzle and leaned ever closer to his master.

He would be here for Master, time and time again.

Commotion rattled the door, growing louder as if a bilgesnipe was rampaging up and down the hallway. Thor and Jane didn't care much for his magical boundaries enchanting his doorways and Loki readied to give them a scathing rejoinder when his brain processed Jane's presence.

Dread paled his face giving him a ghostly demeanor, which did not help his already ghoulish appearance with his unkempt hair and clothes. Swathes of dried and wet blood squeaked under his bare feet. _Not her. Please not her. Any one but her. At least not like this._

"Get out," he rasped.

Jane turned to Thor. "You'll need to keep the guards busy. Give me two hours."

Thor rolled his shoulders. "Giving me the easy job, are we? But you'll have one. Odin will be alerted in time."

"Then get creative." The door shut behind Thor and the rattling commotion swept up again. Good to know his initial analogy of a biglesnipe rampaging the hallways was not so inaccurate. Loki sneered at the mortal.

"Get out," he repeated.

Jane stepped foolhardy close, forcing him to backpedal and hiss his displeasure. She ignored his commands. "We're going to talk Loki. Thor told me what happened." Loki went absolute white. His brother. No, no longer his brother. Just another traitorous Asgardian. Telling Jane, their sister, save not his sister, what he was underneath—how could he? Never before had Loki imagined Thor capable of such cruelty and the knives in Loki's heart plunged deeper. He hated them. He hated all of them. Jane did not seem to notice his silent sufferings. "You were attacked and learned you were adopted. I think you're overreacting—"

Loki was suddenly close, that inhuman speed working to his advantage as Jane stumbled back, eyes wide. Fearful. Of course she feared him. She hated him. What he was—a lie, a liability, an unlovable monster. Frost Giant. Loki's heart broke at what he saw in her eyes. Not her. Any one but her. Norns why, why her?

"I do not 'overreact' Jane." His voice was hoarse from lack of sleep and food and water, hollow like the sounds a soul makes when stuck in purgatory. "To learn everything anyone told you was a lie? To learn my parents shielded by true parentage from me for political playing and that their promises were vacuous and insincere since I was a babe? To learn what monstrous flesh hides under this glamour? Nay, I am _not_ overreacting!"

Hot fury pulled out his magic involuntarily and it thrashed like a snake's tail, ripping up floorboards and drawing deep gashes in nearby furniture and walls. Jane took a step back and Loki read the horror on her face. Horrified of him, of what he was. Shameful as it was Loki felt tears slip past the corners of his eyes. He swiftly turned his back on her, mindful of her gaze.

"Loki…"

"I said get out, Jane, before I use force to make you do so." Consumed by his sorrow and rage, Loki did not notice her coming closer and jerked at her touch on his back. He leapt away from as an injured frightened animal.

Fenrir stood to the side, watching this interaction and unsure of any part he need play. Master was hurting inconsolably so and though Mistress offered love and kindness, Master rejected her at every turn.

"I'm not going anywhere Loki. Thor and I are worried about you. You're family. Always will be."

His forced chuckle was mirthless. "You're a terrible liar."

"Which is why you know I'm not lying, Loki." He sneered at her mock courage, a false show of bravery, and it repelled him.

"Kings have no need for monsters in their closets. They have enough skeletons taking up space there already." He repeated the word monsters and Jane did not understand why. Did he hate his origin so much? Was it such an awful thing _not_ to be an Aeisr. That thought sent an unwelcome flutter through her stomach and Jane put it aside. This was not about her. This was about Loki.

"Loki, please, I love you and—" He all but screeched at her, cutting off her statement. His heart couldn't take such falsehoods.

"**Do not lie to me!**" His words dark as death. "You do not love me. No one loves me. No one loves Frost Giants. We slaughter them, we kill them, we repulse their appearance in the very depths of our beings as Aesir and mortal kind. We do _not_ love them. So tell me not such a terrible, implausible lie, little Jane of Midgard. _I_ know better. _I_ know what you can and cannot love and no one loves this!" His face melted away, ridges and blue skin and red, red eyes.

Jane swallowed. "Loki, what…?" She did not look away. She held his eyes and then ran her gaze over his nose, cheekbones, up into the wild mess that was his hair and down again past his collar bone. Tentatively, one of her hands came up to touch him. Confusion made him slow and he leaned back from her reach. He eyed her warily, voice flat.

"What are you doing? You know better than to touch a Frost Giant Jane. Their skin burns others it is so cold."

Jane's brow knitted, mirroring his confusion. "I don't understand, Thor said you were attacked, how did your attacker—Loki? Are, are you a Frost Giant?" Though she voiced it as a question, those sepia eyes of hers already knew the answer.

Loki felt sick. Thor had not told her. He, he kept his secret, and like a fool, Loki spilled it. Jane stepped closer and fearful, Loki stepped back. Catching her gaze Loki was extremely bemused by the large grin she wore.

"I told him so. I told Thor there were nice, kind, beautiful Jotunns out there." His breaking heart dare piece part of itself back together at those words. Loki's fingers went crazy. His silver tongue went to lead; he had no verbal comeback for her admission.

Jane smiled kindly at him and Loki's hazy mind confused her image with that of Frigga—matronly, kind, all-inclusive, honest affection, even for he a Frost Giant—until he blinked his eyes clear. No fear, never fear, in her gaze, only love. Loki shyly took another step back, the glamour creeping up to cover his blue skin, green overcoming red. "I, I don't…" Her tiny hand found his and he stilled. Jane considered it a triumph that he didn't jerk out of her grasp. It emboldened her to hug him. Loki stopped breathing.

"I love you, Loki. Brother and lover and damnable trickster all. That's all that matters to me. I don't need a king or an Aesir or a not-Aesir. I just need you." Jane looked up and found she held a very fragile man. Thousands of years old and he looked lost and frightened as a boy. He was too tall for her to kiss without his help but standing on her tip toes and getting him to lean down a few inches gave her the ability to peck his jawline with a chaste kiss. Stubbled with coarse black hair, it felt odd on her lips. She was used to Loki always feeling smooth. His appearance registered; the dirt on his clothes, the wrinkles, the lines of fatigue and little sleep heavy on his face, the bloody foot prints that echoed his walk, a wild hairstyle more appropriate for a vagabond than a prince, and unfocused distorted eyes. Through it all, she still saw him, trickster, brother, lover, King of Cool and Master Magician. Loki.

Jane cracked a grin and chanced a joke. "I'd love you all the more if you'd just lower your damn walls." His gaze snapped down to her, hot and bright and Jane feared she stepped over an unseen line.

A hint of a smirk quirked up his lips.

One hand found her hip and the other slid round her lower back. Jane eeped when they ghosted over one of her more sensitive spots. She made to pull back, warning him of Odin coming and Thor needed help outside and none of these thoughts she finished articulating as Loki bent down and drank deeply of her taste. Cider extra cinnamon. He ran a tongue over her lips as he ended the kiss. Blood heated her cheeks.

"Loki, we don't have time," she tried to reason. He dragged his lips lower, down her neck and along the collar bone, his tongue leaving a wet trail and eliciting a gasp as he bit down on her pulse. For three days he exercised poor control; he rather wanted to extend that period by another hour.

His hands made quick work, leaving her body to draw green runes in the air and the door shuddered with a bang, sealed and soundproofed with charms doubled and tripled and five times rewritten to give even the best sorcerer a migraine to unlock. Odin or not, he should have another hour. Not nearly enough time, but it would do for now. Loki brought back his attention to the young mortal in his grasp. His hand cupped her face.

He still didn't believe it. She wanted him. She saw him, saw the monster, and _she_ wanted _him_. Impossible.

His hands grew impatient at the barrier of her clothing and his mind rebelled at the restriction of time. He wanted her now; he wanted proof she wanted him and accepted him. The gentleness that marked his gestures fled under the want and need for physical relief and welcome. Jane hitched still for a breath but gave no negative response to his advances. As if understanding his distress, Jane let Loki be in command this time. Before, she dictated the when, where, and how—with not always subtle seductions and hints from Loki—but in this moment, Loki wanted control. Where everything else in his life taken and flavored with doubt he wanted the certainty of this. Trust in his life in Asgard gone, but wishful, wanting trust he presented to her.

His bed was not fit for their activity so Loki lowered her onto his couch and made quick work of her common clothing. Such quick work that he'd have to replace her shirt with one of her own before she left. A pleasing image that. A darker part of him did not want her to leave. Ever. What if she didn't come back? What if she left him after this?

His tongue teased her nerves and Jane moaned aloud, fingers fisted in his hair.

He wasn't going to lose her. He hasn't yet and he never would. Foolish to think she'd leave him. Unlike others, Jane had never abandoned him, never betrayed him. His fingers drew another moan, one he ate up in a kiss. He loved the way she tasted, and that smell of old tomes and a hint of dust. For a moment, Loki just held her close, relishing the feel of her—warm and inviting—and let his ego swell at her fingers worshiping his stomach and going lower.

This was enough. No throne. No dark thoughts haunting his footsteps. No insecurities blackening his views on his family or his home. Just this. Loki dipped his tongue in for another kiss and felt magic tingle the base of his spine at Jane's response. This mortal in his arms would always be enough and her being here proved that she, and Thor, would not abandon him. Not Odin, not the Norns and not any Aesir, Frost Giant or creature would take this from him. He swore it.

If Frost Giants were cold, Jane wanted to tell him he didn't make a particularly good Frost Giant because everywhere he touched burned and he was heat and fire as he made her skin skiing under his touch. She relished touching him as he touched her and though this evening saw Loki firmly in control, Jane found she did not mind. Loki proceeded to venerate each patch of skin with tongue and teeth and skeletal dexterity that generated a pleasant fog over Jane's mind.

Difficult as it was, Jane found the breath to say, "I love you," and regretted it by the profound disbelief widening his green eyes. Jane looked away, hurt, but then she was crushed in a sweeping hug, bare chest to bare chest with Loki and he was kissing her passionately enough to leave her breathless. He eased her back to the couch, an authentic Loki grin stretching his face.

"Allow me to return the favor."

Even after coming down from their high, Loki did not move; instead he spooned her awkwardly in between the couch and his person, and Jane felt an uncomfortable crick in her neck as circulation got cut off from her limbs.

"Loki?" she tried. No movement. "Loki, Thor can't hold the guards off forever and Odin's going to be called and come down soon." His responding growl and tightening his arms around her to Odin's name did not bode well for future events. Jane shifted, unsure of what to do. Sex, really, really good sex was one way to fix relationship problems but that wouldn't work with Odin or Thor. (Not that she wanted to, ew, gross, but also, Loki would never let her try.) Thus, she needed to get Loki back on his trickster feet. Way easier said than done, so she fell back on the one thing she could always count on: Loki's vanity. "Fine, I won't move, but you're taking a bath. You're hair's dirty and you're beginning to smell." Jane yelped as he unexpectedly picked her up and carried her to the bathroom with him.

Success. (Sort of.)

She was clean first and, wary of intruders, donned one of Loki's outfits, a pair of tunic and trousers that hung off her frame when not adhering to her wet form. Jane did most of the work, scrubbing the blood and grime off him and then filling the tub for a hot soak. His attention never drifted far from her hands and his own repeatedly combed back her damp bangs, brushing the lock of hair behind her ear and then running down in light strokes to cup her jaw. The lock of hair never stayed in place—the hair being too short and Jane craned her neck at odd angles, which made it fall down again when it did decide to stay in place—but Loki seemed at peace repeating the action. He occasionally followed particular drops of water, sometimes jealous, sometimes fascinated by how the water coated her corporeal form.

More out of trepidation and uncertainty, Jane said little beyond requesting him to move this way and that to better clean herself or him. All that bravery evaporated to leave granular remains that chipped and fell apart at the lightest touch. She didn't know what to do. Loki was in need of guidance and support and Jane wasn't sure she had what he needed. Loving Loki was natural for her but now that he required a stabilizing force—for something but Jane didn't know what; never before had Loki been anything but strong—Jane was unsure of herself. How did one fix another person when their entire world was broken, disjointed? Was love the panacea to all his troubles? Did she joke, laugh, make solemn, sage-like anecdotes about life? Just be herself? What was herself again? Stars, the night sky, asking for trips up the mountain and board games. It sounded easy but in her mind everything was suddenly thirty feet tall and she even shorter than usual. Jane was swimming in uncharted waters and she saw sharks in the shadowy undercurrent.

Knowing his hair vanity, Jane handed him the oils and liquids to wash his tangled mane, however, he did not take it so Jane went to work. Working on the tasks, shuffling those uncertain thoughts under a distant rug in the corner of her mind, steadied her hands and let her focus on Loki. Loki closed his eyes as she kneaded the shampoo into his scalp and for those minutes he looked almost at peace. She didn't know if servants or himself washed his hair—he was fastidious about his looks past the point of Light Elf narcissism—so Jane took it as a good sign when he objected not to her ministrations. If anything, he seemed to enjoy them. That alone gave her a boost of confidence and when she pecked his sudsy temple, she was rewarded with a raised eyebrow that fostered a lopsided smile.

That smile answered her troubled soul's questions and Jane expelled the ambiguities plaguing the corners of her mind. Doubts would come—they always came—but she need not doubt herself presently. Life would sort itself out and when it didn't, well, there was always hot, sweaty make-up sex followed by luxurious soaks in the bathtub.

Fenrir had crept to the door, ears droopy and slouched, huddled posture. Loki did not pay him any mind but Jane internally flinched at the fur with crusts dried blood and a limping gait. Jane beckoned him closer and he shifted to his puppy form to better squeeze through the door. His back half wagged from the happy might of his tail and Jane turned to frown at Loki. His face, in turn, alternated between surprise, hurt, anger, petulant denial and hints of remorse in rapid succession at her unspoken admonishment.

Jane dropped Fenrir in the bath tub with a splashing plop, to their sputtering stupefaction. The wolf pup came up blinking and fur askew like a northern Vanir haircut. Jane handed Loki a bottle of soap and then pointedly glanced at Fenrir.

Fenrir saw the soap and promptly began paddling away. Alas, his master had a long reach and the pup did not get far. His mistress chuckled a light giggle at his sulking face and from the corner of his eye he saw Master's lips twitch into an attempted smirk as he washed the soap into his fur. Master was washing out the soap bubbles when the door cracked open, the crackle of warring magic crunching unkindly in the air and the king and his guards came in, a bruised and bloody-nosed Thor without his hammer between a set of guards, chastened yet sullenly defiant. They found them in the bathing chambers. When Jane got up to move, Loki's hand grabbed her wrist and forced her to stay in a bruising grip, loosening it to something a little less painful when he caught her grimace.

Odin did not look pleased.

"Back to your chambers, both of you. You and Thor and I are going to have a talk," he said to Jane and his oldest son but Loki did not release her and Thor did not move.

"I wish to stay and speak with my brother at this time, Father." Thor pleaded though his voice held not the begging quality of times past. It was a request laced with noncompliance should he be denied. The knuckled grip on Gungnir went white and Jane saw Odin's jaw clench. From within the bath tub, Fenrir's muzzle warped back to reveal an unwelcoming gristbite. This was not going well.

"Da—My King," Jane broached the silence. She formally bowed as low as she could with Loki gripping her wrist. "Please let Thor and I tend to our brother. I understand that you have other matters to see to and our presence here would comfort the Queen. At least let Thor stay," she implored when Odin's face did not cool into something friendlier and his initial reply harsh. "I bullied him into compliance. It was my fault, not his. Please, Father. Please don't condemn Loki to loneliness."

Father and King read the situation. Loki looked better than he had in days—pallor skin a healthier glow, his features less defensive and a posture suggesting prone to fits of rage had mellowed; nothing significant but it was a start. Odin used Heimdall to inform him of Loki and the news the gatekeeper relayed distressed him. Often Odin left the gatekeeper's presence feeling like her imbibed copious amounts of sour milk. His son's lifeline grip on Jane's wrist did not go unnoticed. As father and King, Odin ruled.

"Very well. Loki. Release your sister, finishing washing and dress yourself. Jane, come here." She had to tease her brother's fingers free and walked over to her father with a guilty countenance. He looked as pleased to see her as the warden does a troublesome inmate. His one eye commanded Thor over as well. "Go to your brother and set him right. Jane, you will go _back_ to your boudoir until I find an adequate punishment for your treason."

Uncaring for his state of undress Loki vaulted over the bathtub's rim and stalked over with acidic repudiations manipulating his tongue. Thor was equally unhappy with his father's decision but Gungnir pounded the floor in divine authority and the two brothers felt seiðr halt their limbs and then cruel as chains, worked their bodies into genuflection.

Loki's eyes bled red with rage, obligated silent by the king's scepter. Fenrir, who followed his master, was in a similar state of distress though his body trembled against its unseen restraints. Thor alone was left to speak. "Father, I chose to bring Jane to Loki. She deserves no punishment. We worried for our brother. This is not the time to divide our family. I beseech you to let Jane stay and we mend this rift. There is no need for punishment. We only did as what is right for family." Odin ignored his son's heartfelt reply and centered his focus on Jane.

She ducked her head in an informal bow yet remained standing, alone. Whether knowing she could not over power him or his soldiers or out of stone-heartedness to prove to his sons that they could not hope to go against him, it was nevertheless a cruel decree to leave his sons immobile and helpless as they watched Jane pay the price for aiding her family. Loki's rage rebelled against the foreign magic holding down his limbs and though his muscles constricted and contracted their protest, the king's magic held strong. Guilty and afraid, Jane observed the floor intently and did not look up as Odin relayed harsh words to her brethren even as her core railed against her father's deeds. Odin gestured for a soldier to take her away.

An einherjar soldier made to follow his king's orders and escort the mortal to her chambers. Black-green lightning jolted his arm, zinging up his armor as the metal conducted the electric sparks and he pulled back with a painful grunt. The thumb-sized ring of lightning corkscrewed around Jane and lined back to Loki's palms flat on the floor. Sweat drenched him and tension tightened his musculature. Overwhelming the seiðr temporarily allowed him to ground out one word.

"No." The seiðr snapped his jaw shut, nearly slicing the tip of his tongue and cutting off the rest of what he wanted to say, although his features thundered aloud his feelings.

Flummoxed, Odin could only stare at his son. Rage and hatred was all he expressed to the King of Asgard. The old Aesir's heart constricted. Were all his family traitors?

_Or just him?_

The thought, more from his heart than his head, racked him and before his progeny and soldiers, Odin fell to his knees. Thor cried out, Jane trying to catch him though too weak to bear his armored weight, and Loki's eyes faded to concerned green. Their care brought him back to life and Odin hacked out a cough, clearing his mind of nebulous, wicked thoughts with each shuddering breath. He saw people around him and the more he focused on the details the clearer his mind became.

_What had he been doing? _

The Einherjar were in panic, their steadfast king brought to his knees, but as the seiðr percolated from his being Thor got to his feet, steadying his father with gentle hands. He bade the guards out, an authoritative voice remnant of his father and a hitch of hesitation later, the guards bowed and left the royal family to themselves. Thor placed Odin on a couch as Loki reappeared, dressed in loose fitting silk slacks and an open green shirt of matching color to Jane's. She handed Odin a glass of water and then was pulled loosely into Loki's embrace, brotherly and intimate all at once. King of Asgard looked up to see his three children—his true born, his second son and his mortal daughter not long for this world—saw their devoted solicitude, half-buried but still there in Loki's gaze, and wondered where he erred.

He wavered to his feet, more reminiscent of an old man than any of the three could recall and gestured away their concern. "Stay," he sighed. "Stay all of you. Martial law ends soon as I can convene my advisors. So tonight stay and settle any rifts. I, I must go see your mother." He needed his own guiding star tonight and knew she would not deny him for all her choler over his bullish ways these past few days. Frigga would always set his heart right, keeping him of the narrow, precarious path that is just and good. Why hadn't he gone to see her previous to this?

At his words Loki visibly relaxed against Jane's smaller frame and Thor, big bear grin in place, clasped his two siblings in a one handed hug. Thor concentrated his eyes on Loki, and the latter, tired and defense worn down with the gentleness of a sledge hammer, let the truth slip as he looked at Jane. The thunderer nearly started and switched his gaze towards Jane to verify. She ran her thumb over Loki's larger hand in an intimate caress and while there was affection on her face Thor could not read into it; after all, her face usually shined with love, or inquisitiveness, or intellect, or a mixture of all three. Thor plastered his inquiries to the roof of his mouth like sticky peanut butter. Another day. He would taste them in every word not spoken but now was not the right time. Today he would love his siblings and do his best to stitch Loki's beaten heart. Said trickster was nose deep in Jane's hair, half-asleep and near purring as a cat content. To Thor he looked like his juvenile self holding a large teddy bear. Meanwhile Jane was trying not to buckle under his weight, running hands through her slick hair and Loki's to get it out of her face to cyclical ineffectiveness. She grinned victoriously at Thor and the larger Aesir responded to her radiating benevolence. All would be well.

Odin nodded to himself as he saw his children and trudged out the door, straightening into his kingly comportment outside of Loki's chambers. Yes, he and Frigga had much to discuss. It would be a long night for all of Asgard's royal family, but the promise of morning advocated of good things to come if they could just get through the darkness that is the night.


End file.
